Incandescent
by Kyoka-BOO
Summary: A vampire, an enemy, and a dark memory that will never quite vanish... Even when life can never be the same, it's hard to let go.
1. Prologue

**Notes:**  
I do proofread, but considering that I wrote this almost completely at three in the morning, there may be little mistakes in there. Please tell me if they are. This will be a chaptered story (Even though I'm starting at a bad time--I have a week long summer camp that I'm leaving for tomorrow.)It may seem a tad OOC, but everything will be explained later. (I swear, this is not masochim!)

Oh... and this doesn't really take place in Japan. At least, for now it won't.

**Disclaimer**: All of the characters in here that are cannon to Prince of Tennis have their creation credited to the manga-ka Konomi Takeshi. Thank you, Konomi Takeshi!

**Warnings: **Yaoi-ish. There's innuendo in here, and there may be more mature themes in later chapters. So yes, people; think before you read. I don't write smut. Nothing in here will be absolutely tasteless. **Please** don't read this unless you're sure you either don't care about reading homosexually-orientated writing, or if you like yaoi, then that's fine, too.

* * *

**Prologue  
**_-Fuji-__  
The Present__  
_

_Where can I go?_

_What can I do?_

Every night, when he chose to look at the sunset he would stop for a minute and pause. Then it was routine. He would think; he would marvel it. The colors ended up mixing to create a deep navy, brightened by rose and orange, he waited, waited patiently. What else could he do than that, to wait for the person he loved to meet him?

He used to love the rain. Tragically beautiful, one might say. Just like the object of his innermost obsession.

_Tragically beautiful like you..._

_Like you…_

_Beautiful, astoundingly breathtakingly beautiful…_

"I brought you some tea." His skin was mildly chilled, but he didn't tremble. The flesh was cooler to the touch, but he didn't move. His eyes were not affixed on the horizon now, but on a book in his lap, worn, its pages fading. Slim fingers slid across the yellowing page, stopped at a single word, and then resumed.

The knowledge of that fact that a sibling really did care was nice, but he didn't seem to have interest that said sibling had come such a ways.

"Ah," He took the cup, but did not give thanks. Rather, he pushed open the screen door and stepped outside to greet the smell of saltwater. Here, it windy. The door slammed behind him, making the neighborhood cat, sleeping on a nearby path, suddenly shoots up in a sudden fit of surprise and scurry of under a bush somewhere. Though he was usually the one to come up and give the creature a scratch behind the ears, he showed no concern for scaring it off like he had.

Blue blended into a light orange, tracing a person's eyes across the horizon to touch a sudden pink, then an invasion of scarlet, which morphed into a peaceful azure.

They said life was too short not to appreciate these small details.

His senses would heighten, to pick up the gentle sound of rustling in the trees. A few leaves scattered across the path, mixed with a few flower petals. Stepping across the concrete, observing a lovely shade of lavender in the sky, he raised the cup he has holding to trembling lips. He didn't drink.

Life was not like a movie, or any sort of book.

Life could never be captured in an autobiography, simply because the human personality was not something that could be captured in a bottle like a monarch butterfly on a warm summer day. It was not something that could live imprisoned in a little glass jar with air holes at the top and only a few leaves and flowers to keep it company.

People could try, and they did a lovely job at it.

It would never be enough, though.

The value of life could not be estimated; it could not be bought.

The value of a human life could not be sold in the form of written pages as an internationally acclaimed bestseller.

None of the emotions, not happiness, sadness, anger, joy, ecstasy, affection, remorse, or fury could be captured. Love wasn't something that could be put on display in a museum to see. It's mementos were left behind, affectionate notes, tiny trinkets, and perhaps a photo. The love, though, like a rainbow, could not be fully captured. One could take a picture of it, but as soon as that person reached out their fingers to grasp the rainbow, they would find that it was gone, and the only thing slipping between their fingers was air. If one tried to put it in a jar, it would vanish.

This, to learn, took decades, a lifetime. Some never learned it.

Always, though, it helped to have somebody to pull off that blindfold.

He would always feel those fingers touching his face, light and ghostly. They were gentle, yet it was expected that they would leave bruises, invisible to the human eye, tarnishing skin and ruining a perfect innocence.

He had never cared, really.

The other had pretended to, in guilt of tainting such sweet innocence.

In the end, he never cared about that, though.

Also, he would never be able to forget that gentle kiss, one right on his forehead, gentle like the touch of grass beneath one's feet on a warm summer day.

Nowadays, he wore long sleeves and a winter scarf at all times, hiding things from the eyes of others as one might have with a barrier. This gentle act, this barrier of fabric, hiding skin wasn't going to save him.

Only in the presence of one other, or himself would he pull that scarf off, though.

His eyes were finally adjusted to the darkness. He followed his ears to an abandoned part of the beach that tourists didn't come to. It was a cove, rocky and bad to swim in. The water was dark, and it was only shallow enough for one to touch bottom for so long before the ground formed a rocky slope. The place was infamous for riptide and undertow, making it an unsafe place to swim.

Yet here, things were so utterly wild that he couldn't resist. The cool night air would touch one's face. The view with one's eyes was beautiful. The cove was dotted with many trees and the water, though dark happened to be free of pollution. This single, untouched place was a sanctuary. It was an artists dream, not being touched by people at all. A small mouse scuttled on the rocks covered by mouse, avoiding the advancing tide; he stepped ankle deep in the water and let sea tug at him. Unforgiving as it was, here he was safe.

Unless he dared to venture farther, into forbidden water, he would be safe from the wrath of the sea, and the utter, unforgiving punishment he would be dealt with by lashes of waves, the threat of sharks, and the current. Death, there was eminent, and he rested at the fringe, admiring it's beauty, longing to reach out and touch it without getting bitten.

This used to be "their" place. Now he waited. Waited for something that probably wouldn't come.

Would he die this way? Would he be there for all eternity, growing stiff in his old age while he still refused to allow himself to life without the other?

His breath was released into the salt-saturated air. A wave rushed to his feet, tugging at him to come play. Years ago, maybe he would have answered such a challenge, but today he adjusted his scarf, dried his feet, and headed in the direction of home after precisely an hour full of aimless wandering.

He searched for something, anything that he could reach out and touch.

The phone rang when he got home, and he answered it with a straight face. "Anna?" There was a feminine voice that answered his, though it sounded younger than his. The man was tired and weary. Beauty was still evident on his features, but he had long since let his smiling expression sag into a constant frown, as he waited for his love like the Irish maiden.

"It's late. Why aren't you in bed?"

The receiver was cradled to his ear, like a precious treasure. He exhaled verbally on the phone. She sounded weary, full of fatigue. It made him shake his head. The girl answered back in a tired tone.

"I wanted to talk to you. I had a nightmare."

He remained unresponsive for a moment, before providing potential solutions. She trusted him, so he humored her by conversing for a half an hour, then making the excuse that she was risking her health with the lack of sleep. After hearing her bid good-bye, he hung up.

The house was empty.

The bed was empty. So, he took the only inviting place. It was the couch amid a clean, orderly living room. He switched on the television set, and it revealed two lovers together, racing across the deck of a boat, laughing innocently and pressing close when they kissed.

The movie itself was a fairly good embodiment of what love was.

"Fairly good," was the only thing he'd give it, though.

However, it could not make a person feel it.

It, in his opinion, would never capture it truly. It was a sad movie, though, and he watched it out of the corner of his eye, as he lay on the couch, not bothering to retrieve a blanket for himself.

Flash one, and he stood next to a shadow, a shadow that seemed very much alive.

Flash two, he leaned in, taking initiative, and they were kissing passionately.

Flash three, and then there was blood.

Flash four, and he was gone completely.

_Do you feel it now?_

His eyebrows raised and kitted together. Fingers skimming the floor; he picked up the cold cup of tea and raised it to his mouth to drink. His throat was swollen, and it was hard to swallow. Part of the portion, he coughed up, making the idea of a drink less desirable. He pushed the cup away.

He was rendered weak and blinking at the realization there was blood, that his fingernails had pierced his palm. Long since he'd seen the first of his blood though, he'd gained apathy for it. Crimson dripped onto the carpet to join another bloodstain.

_Do you feel it now? _

That voice was asking him a question, and he was bid to answer with his dry, constricted throat. "Yes… Yes, I do." The statement was breathless, and pleading. _Make me feel more. Make me bleed. Make me scream in pain._ He turned over on his back. The thin shirt he was wearing rode up on his stomach, and he shivered, almost wishing to feel a gentle touch there, tickling him with warmth.

_I won't make you scream in pain. I won't make you bleed._

"But-"

_You are no masochist._

"Please… please…"

They said that he was crazy. They thought him insane.

He knew better, though.

They just didn't see.

I was blind back then.

_That smiling fool was not I._

_This is who I am. _

_Waiting for you, dying for you. _

He brushed his cheek with his own hand, leaving a fine trail of blood there. His eyes, dilated and cloudy, closed; his heavy breathing and slow rise and fall of his chest were the only things that showed a single sign of life.

He had lost that blindfold.

He could see clearly.

Later, his hands would run across an old book, thick and also yellowing at the pages. This, though, was work that was his, and nobody else's. Documenting his love when he had been so naïve, it was written in his native script, and few where he lived would be able to read it.

_He_ would be able to, though, and that was all that mattered.

The script grew smaller as the pages were flipped. On some were small drawings of hearts accompanied by the neat, well-written characters. On others, there were tearstains. On only one other was a small spot of dried blood. There was a letter wedged between the fifty-sixth and fifty-seventh pages. It hadn't been opened in years. On another, there was a piece of hair taped there, with a small note labeling it underneath. Squashed into the journal, taped to the last page was a promise ring affixed to a silver chain. On the very back cover, there was a picture of a man taped to the back cover. The photo was black and white, so old that it was fading.

His fingers touched the pages.

He swore he wasn't trying to catch this love in his journal.

He swore he wasn't catching the delicate butterfly in a jar, attempting to keep it as a pet. Everyone knew that if one kept a butterfly like that, beautiful and delicate, that it would die. Even with proper care, it was hard to contain something. It was far better pinned down in an insect display case, labeled and preserved. That way, it would never die, at least not figuratively.

It would be eternal.

It would never be forgotten, immunized by legend.

It would be never-ending, and he would never forget.

It would be ever lasting.

In the background the television played sad music. The man switched it to the CD player, and it played a slow melody that was a mix of his familiar Asian language, and English dialogue floating among the gentle, yet saddening words. The piano played a soft melody, chorusing with a lone flue, hitting low, mellow notes. Unconsciously, he reached out to touch the small fleck of blood dancing across his cheek.

Sometimes he would take his scarf off at night to touch his neck. Something a few years ago never would have seemed so private, so forbidden. His fingers, tracing light circles across the throat made his breathing hitch; it was his own doing.

Flash one, he was innocently collecting some of his potted plants in torrential downpour so they would not be drowned. It had been raining for a week straight.

Flash two, he found a letter folded in the one dry place, under a ceramic bowl protected by the shelter of the roof.

Flash three, and he was pinned to a bed, with a pair of lips kissing everywhere, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. A pair of hands pulled him closer so that they were staring into the depths of each other's eyes.

Flash four, he was lying on a couch alone, tracing his throat wistfully as if he wished a pair of hands would come and squeeze the life from him. He wished to be pinned again, like the lovely butterfly in the insect collection. He wished again to feel the chilly breath touch his neck.

He wished to be owned again, to be needed like he had once been, before.

Tossing and turning, he pushed himself up with a desire to go back to that where it had all originated. He brought the thick journal filled with recollections with him.

The bus ride was fifty minutes long, but considering that he was just on the outskirts of the city, it was easy to find a ride up there. He watched the scenery pass. The calm outskirts changed to bustling city.

This city never really slept.

_We kissed today. He tasted like blood, but he tasted good. I think I love him even more._

His thin fingers flipped through the entries until he found another one, and he read only an excerpt of it.

He showed me the other side of the city tonight, but we ended up in the park. He told me later that he liked it there. All the while we sat a ways away; he was on one swing and I was sitting on the other.

_I've never felt more excitement when he pulled me off the swings by the hands, keeping me close. _

_I never thought that he was a passionate person. _

The bus let him off, and he made his way into a park. This was a children's park. The pavilion was friendly and inviting, good for picnics some mothers liked to take their children on during the summer months. The swings were motionless, where they had sat in proximity so many years ago. A few pale-looking teenagers laughed in their group together, and turned to face him when he passed hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Their laughter stopped, and their cool, dark eyes gave him their silent regards. They received nothing but apathy, even when an angrier, more impulsive one looked as if he was ready to strangle the apparent stranger. It was quite strange, to see somebody who could be considered an adult at this park, much less so late at night. It might have suggested things, but nobody really cared, did they? When he went ignored, he traveled over to the swings and sat down, pushing himself back with his heels. The set creaked slightly under the weight, but he wasn't too heavy. The chains were rustier, which created the majority of the noise.

His hands clenched tightly around those chains until they were digging into his skin, until he had once again made himself bleed with his own fingernails. The others noticed immediately. The hungry look of one went ignored; he seemed to draw back a little from the ravenous hunger, as if some previous order held him back. Pulling the scarf more tightly around his neck, he set the book of memories on the ground. It opened to another entry.

I think that he is the most amazing person that I have ever met. People say he is cold, but each moment I am with him I grow fonder of that. I grow fonder of his lips, teeth, eyes, everything.

_He never tells me that he loves me, but I know he feels it deep down, just as I do. _

All of the sudden, he slammed it shut, laying his head next to the journal after he pushed himself off the swing set. It began to rain. The deep drum hurt his head, but rather than getting out of the storm, he only protecting the diary, a tribute to his love, one of those things that would never explain love, but was a memento to it.

A car passed. It kicked up a puddle of water, and Fuji watched vaguely until the red taillights vanished into the night. The boys chatting a ways away hadn't been scared of just yet by the rain, and one attracted by the scent of his still-bleeding palm; getting up the courage to lick at the flesh, he was surprised to find no reaction. No reaction would have discouraged him by now, except perhaps…

Thinking it was safe; his fingers moved away thick, layered hair. Next was he scarf; he never untied it, but slid the material lightly down his neck.

There was no reaction—until fingertips contacted the skin and the lips were a centimeter away.

His eyes were open fully, revealing a cool, yet stunning azure. They burned a strange emotion, as if to challenge the world, as if to show everyone that now, he was no longer going to be easy-going about things. He was serious.

The reaction was instantaneous. The man's palm flew upwards at an astounding speed, landing sideways across the bridge of the nose. Blinded by momentary pain and a gush of blood, the pale-faced teenager fell fully to the ground, on his back. The other man delivered the teenage boy a firm and fast kick to the stomach. The way he walked was not furious, but rather calm, almost holding an aura of satisfaction. The man caught a bus back to the stop near his home in the suburbs immediately and never gave the boy who had touched him a backwards glance.

That was the danger of the delicate little flower, or something so obviously cute that somebody had to touch it.

This man, though haunted by his memories was in no sense of the word, weak. He would defend himself violently. _Nobody, __**Nobody **_touched his neck nowadays and got away with it without some sort of bloodshed. If the boy hadn't been as he was, he would have had a severely broken nose, considering the force that he had used to strike upwards.

The journal was thrown upon the table when he reached home. The promise ring affixed to the last page came loose and fell to the ground with a light clink. The man retrieved it and gave the ring a light kiss.

Fuji Shuusuke had not always been like this.

No, he had been much different, a smiling, confident man who was able to find a way around everything, who seemed to be a prodigy naturally. When had this all changed? He wasn't sure. All he knew now was that when he was once apt to do something constructive, he was now more expected to wander the streets filled with melancholy thoughts.

These were his memories.

All of it started with a man he had come to be permitted to call "Kunimitsu."

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Done. It's rather short for my liking… so yes… Vampire!Tezuka… 

I really couldn't resist. I've been dying to write one of these for years. (This is not cliché. It WILL have a twist, I swear.)


	2. Chapter One MEMORIES

If I didn't say so before, this story will be made up of the past, the present, and fantasies. I'll mark the chapters to show which is which. For instance, this chapter is about how Fuji and Tezuka met.

Yeah… so the story was proofread instead of me packing. (If I try and put just one more towel in the thing, I think it's going to explode. Kyoka is NOT a good packer. And... I think my brain's going to die if the phone rings once more!

Thank you everyone, for your kind reviews.

I will be back by next Saturday… probably will be updating my other story rather than this one, though.

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own anything.

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**Chapter One- MEMORIES**  
_-Fuji-  
The Past_

The gentle wind blew listlessly across the beach, sketching a picture of perfection. Today the sun shone down on the sand, revealing a beach that stretched peacefully for miles. Encompassed within the whole place was a myriad of different ecosystems, each unique to the environment that had developed within a picture of larger scale. There was grass not far off, known for small rodents and insects. Nearer to the ocean one would come across the tide pools, a diverse world of their own.

Occasionally, the unwary, or more likely arrogant, tourist would venture in and ruin one of the ecosystems by trampling within the small pool of water, disturbing or even killing the organisms within. Some children would even pull the animals out of the tide pools if nobody reprimanded them for it.

A man, though, was known to guard the beach on weekends when the tourists were most prevalent. He would reprimand the small children scurrying about the beach, reminding them coolly that the ecosystems within the tide pools were made up of living, breathing creatures. When he seemed to figure that his work was done, the stranger would drift over to the tide pools and hunch over them for an hour or so, either sketching what he saw or taking pictures with his camera. Sometimes a little girl, wide-eyed and soft-faced accompanied him, clinging to his hand.

Ancient beliefs seemed to guide him. He followed the ideas that the earth was a breathing thing, and if one didn't know him properly, they would mistake his appreciation for nature as worship of the mother earth.

He had an eternal smile, breaking across his features brightly. He seemed to be able to walk around with his eyes closed, except when he found a particular action to be bothersome. Then, his eyes would open and that gentle smile would fade like a dampened picture. Fuji was a person of strong beliefs, not somebody to allow himself to be pushed around. If anyone were to be doing some sort of pushing, it would be he, because Fuji Shuusuke was never cornered. At least, that was how others made him out to be.

He'd at first not been particularly fond of the arts. Fuji's attention and mind was fleeting as good weather on a sweet spring day. In school, he was focused, yet if one were to place him in a lively flower field, he would one moment be sniffing a daisy and then another chasing after a butterfly. One moment it would be sunshine, and then it would be torrents of dangerous rain to be followed by a thunderstorm. This unpredictability was possibly what gave him the eye for natural beauty. One could fairly say that he had an appreciation of the smaller things in life. At times, he could seem vengeful, but at times when that wasn't the case, he was calm as the clear, unbroken surface of the water.

Many tourists on one Saturday scattered away from him as vast as the sea before them. They ebbed and flowed like the ocean, too, and Fuji having both experience with crowds and ocean was able to follow this strong current to where he intended to be without being swept away in the process. Many had heard the stories of him, or perhaps had overheard whispers of rumors of him while sitting idly at their breakfast table poking at their cornflakes. He was cunningly smart, some said, a child prodigy. Others warned of his tendency to point in the wrong direction just to see a person's reaction, because he liked to play with a person's mind. Obviously, though, whatever they had been told at their hotel over breakfast was not something positive, because mothers would pull their children in the opposite direction whenever he came near, and only a few souls chose to ignore him.

The smile on his features widened. He knelt next to a young woman observing the tide pools, peacefully so. At the moment, his aura seemed light, playful. His eyes didn't open, but the threat ran through the air.

"Shuusuke!" The name was pronounced slowly, from general knowledge. A little girl broke space between the two and thrown her arms around Fuji to the best of her ability.

Her name, known in western order as Anna Jacobs, was something Fuji had grown accustomed to saying. The young woman he'd kept his eye on for the past few minutes had her hands in her lap, and seemed to be blushing slightly. Tilting his head to the side slightly, he swept Anna into his arms and looked expectantly at the other girl. It was a test, really. At least, that was what he told himself. The degree of red in her cheeks darkened slightly. Fuji thought it to be a shame, really. He wasn't thinking of anything other than the fact she might have been a shy girl, like Anna.

Today, she seemed to be the only one who got near the tide pools yet respected them. She was the only one who didn't scurry off when she was within a two-foot radius of Fuji. "Shuusuke, who is she?" Anna clung tighter. The woman was observing a snail as it made its way slowly across the rocky bottom. In the distance, the gulls cawed, sweeping down to pick at some food that a careless traveler had left. Fuji's eyes opened and looked expectantly at her.

She wasn't a half-bad looking young woman, with fair hair and soft green eyes. Fuji felt nothing for her, despite what his thoughts might have led to. Her eyes were a lush green, much like a forest. Licking the roof of his mouth, he extended his hand. He wasn't from around here, but he knew the nation's customs. Just as of late he'd gotten used to the western order of names. "Anna-chan, I wouldn't know."

Exotic… his voice sounded exotic. The woman looked up, slightly taken aback. The voice was sweet, though, like powdered sugar, coated to the point where it was almost too sweet. One might have even taken his voice as a threat. The girl tried her tongue across her lips, testing the bittersweet taste in the air and deciding if she was supposed to speak or not. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

Her look lasted long and hard; she tried with all her might to find a skeleton in his closet, to find some flaw among his perfect face. The attempts didn't work though, and she slowly stated "Amy… Amy Johnson." He nodded. With a weak, trembling finger, she pointed towards Anna.

"Is she yours?" All of the shy nature was gone from her voice, and the tone warmed to the temperature of the sun beating down from above. Far away, a wave crashed; the water washed up near their ankles before the pull of the current brought the water farther back, away from people. Fuji took a deep breath of air. A shallow-water fish leapt from the water and made a splash.

"No, I just take care of her."

It was a surprise to him, really, that Anna's parents even paid her medical treatment. Anna said that they constantly worked, and sometimes if it wasn't for Fuji, she would be walking on her own to the hospital, unaccompanied for her doctor's checkup. The parent's insolence upset him; they were icebergs when it came to the emotional well-being of their daughter, not to mention it didn't take a genius to realize that it was good for such a young girl to be walking to her own doctor's appointments, especially unaccompanied by any form of adult.

Her hair, a faded red, blew lightly in the wind. Anna had been assigned to a program pairing younger children with older teenagers. A schoolteacher hadn't enrolled her because of the emotional neglect from her parents, but because of her social skills. Anna could be described into proportion as a turtle, perhaps. She was nervous and took things slow, sometimes withdrawing her head when she became frightened. Anna was smaller than most children her age and was affected by leukemia, something that Fuji had suffered and survived when he was younger.

The small, thin girl was clinging to him, as if she expected Amy Jacobs to turn into a ferocious man-eating bear. Her small faced pressed into his neck and her arms tightened around his throat. "Anna-chan… I can't breathe…" His wheezy voice came out with a gust of wind, and it was carried by the wind to a far-off place. Fuji's eyes gently closed again when she loosened her arms from around his neck. The woman laughed, her giggle sounding windy and high-pitched to him. Anna muttered her apologies to Fuji.

"And what's your name?" Her questioned seemed warm, though a little prodding. Fuji shifted, and for some strange woman he did not feel comfortable under the affection of a woman. He didn't know why, even though he had always been like that. Unlike some boys his age, his throat did not constrict around a pretty girl. He didn't go chasing after them like some did, even at age seventeen.

"Shuusuke Fuji." He still hadn't gotten used to saying his own name in Western order. "But you can call me Fuji." Fuji surveyed the sun, sinking

"Ah, that's a nice name. So you're Chinese?"

That still made his throat tighten with slight anger and annoyance, even though in America many people would get China mixed up with Japan. Fuji couldn't see why. The languages both sounded different. The Chinese used calligraphy entirely rather than the Japanese using a mixture of kanji, hiragana, and katakana. China was a very large country bound in the continent of Asia. Japan was off the coast of Asia and was made up of four main islands.

"Japanese," he corrected. His brows knitted together in slight frustration. This hadn't been the first time he'd needed to correct somebody, and it was getting quite annoying.

"That's so cool!" she responded. Inwardly, Fuji's face sunk. So she wasn't really a shy girl after all. The phrase held the likeliness of a Japanese schoolgirl's phrase _"Sugoi, ne!" _Even though he had left Japan years ago, he could remember seeing a cartoon series where a girl had done that exact thing, except her eyes had been wide and there were sparkles surrounding her figure. Fuji had found it all incredibly cheesy, even at the young age of six.

The sun was sinking low in the sky, and Fuji found it as an excuse. Besides, Anna obviously didn't like the woman. She was nice enough, well mannered and kind, but Anna being an extremely shy girl rarely warmed up to people quickly. Fuji didn't want her to spend the rest of the daylight hours with her face buried in his neck. Not to say that he didn't thank the gods above, because the woman had something strange about her that made him uneasy.

"I have to go," he explained, scooping Anna up in his arms. The sky was a lovely mix of pinks and blues, making a nice painting. The scenery never changed, until one eyes met the telltale signs of civilization, a street and houses in the background, along with a hotel. "You see, we live in the city, and I'm supposed to be back there before dark." That wasn't true; he was allowed to stay out after dark and considering that Anna's parents generally worked until the vicinity of three in the morning, it was better that he keep her with him for as long as possible. Besides, the sun was about to set, casting a red glow across the ground. It was almost an hour to get back to the city, and it would be dark long before they reached their destination.

"Oh," Her hands twisted when she stood on stiff legs, stumbling slightly. Anna took her head out of the crook of his neck and lay instead against his shoulder. There was a gentle wind, though it wasn't even enough to successfully knock a speck of dust of the head of a pin. "Fuji… Shuusuke, I have something to ask you." Her voice was bashful, and she mispronounced his given name. Fuji didn't make a move to correct her.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" The silence bit like the bitter cold of an arctic winter, it's frosty winds tugging at Fuji, blowing his hair back and chilling his face. Unconsciously, Fuji shivered. He didn't like this woman that much, and he could never call it love at fist sight. Her hand touched his, and he stepped back. The skin of a woman was almost too soft for his liking. "I had a lot of fun talking to you, Fuji. I hope that we can see each other again." Leaning in, she had the audacity to kiss him lightly on the lips. Fuji pushed her away, gently, though.

"I do not believe in love at first sight." His reply was not cold, but it was not very considerate of her feelings. It foretold a warning that would never be spoken, a dangerous wind that blew over the coast as a strong storm, darkening the skies to an angry, threatening black. "I am sorry. It was nice meeting you, Miss Johnson."

"Wait!" Her call was broken up like a garbled radio broadcast, being carried away by a sudden gust of wind. Fuji set Anna on the ground and took her hand, heading towards the bus stop. Nowadays, there was a bus that came and went from the city every half an hour, and if one paid twenty-five cents they could ride the line all the way to the outskirts of the city, where Fuji needed to go. Luckily, the woman hadn't followed him. The sun was setting, the atmosphere changing into night.

They caught the bus ten minutes later, placed the fee into the collection box, and took a seat near the windows. Anna liked to point out at the scenery and say how pretty it was, even in the dead of the night when light didn't extend far from the battery powered lights overhead that cast a dim glow across the entire length of the bus. The driver hummed to himself and had the radio playing softly. Few people rode the bus at this time.

"Shuusuke, can we go to the park before I have to go home, please?" It was hard to argue with a little girl's pleading tone, because it was so innocent. Her ever-so-large eyes reflected the hope that Fuji would honor her simple wishes. She, unlike some children her age, never asked for material things, or perhaps something else that involved money. She got a lot of amusement out of going to the park with Fuji, though. It was like giving a normal seven-year-old child year's worth supply of candy. Here, she blinked and clasped her hands gently, twisting to look up at Fuji. Her lower lip quivered slightly. The bus driver up front coughed. "Please?" The plea was long and drawn out.

The park wasn't the most well lit place at night. One of the streetlights near it had gone out, and beyond the borders the park was almost completely dark. That, and Fuji had seen some strange boys about his age loitering around. Fuji was a daredevil, always teasing danger. This time, though, he felt slightly nervous. Here, the crickets chirped. The one time when Fuji had passed, the teenagers had looked up their conversation. Everything had fallen to an eerie silence. One of those boys had looked at him strangely once when he was taking a shortcut through that part. Fuji had never seen anything else like that before, and he felt slightly worried should Anna run off. Fuji knew self-defense, and could easily give any one of them a bloody nose and a black eye. Anna, though, was only a little girl and wouldn't be able to stand up for herself if those boys turned out to be absolute creeps. Her soft eyes persisted in pleading him, though.

"Okay, then. But you have to stay with me, okay?" He rubbed Anna's red hair. She smiled softly, something the little, pale girl rarely did. "Do you promise?" He was like a father to her, perhaps, though it made sense. She had little else to go home to, and it was most likely that if Shuusuke wasn't their as the assigned "big brother" she wouldn't go anywhere but her bedroom and the living room. No doubt, the park was a treat for her. Her parents gave her as many physical necessities as a young girl would need, but when it came to emotional support, they failed. If Fuji didn't have other issues to worry about, he would go up and punch the irresponsible mother and father in the face. Parents were supposed to take care of their children.

"I promise!" The bus let them off only a little ways away from the park, and even through the sound of cars, he was able to hear the peaceful chirp of crickets from the park. It really was dark out now, and he had to let his eyes adjust from that dimly lit setting in the bus. He looked around cautiously for a moment. Tonight, there was no sign of those teenaged boys, and Fuji was grateful. There was an older man about forty occupying himself with picking up trash. Fuji dismissed him as any sort of threat and took Anna's hand.

She was a little girl, and that was all there was to it. She played with the sand in the sandbox, and Fuji push her on the swings, and then went back to happily making mountains of sand. The tiny grains flowed easily through her fingers. A flash of light caught Fuji's eye. It bothered him slightly, and only by chance he turned his head.

They were being watched.

It wasn't one of those teenagers, but an older man with eyes that glinted like diamonds, with an unspoken emotion just as had the teenager's. Fuji kept an eye on him, though only out of the corner of his eye. Anna giggled, clapped, and told Fuji that she had named the largest mountain of said "Shuusuke Mountain." She smiled and began naming others with sillier names, while Fuji listened, nodded, and kept a close watch on the strange man, who was approaching closer.

"This one's called Fluffy Mountain, after my neighbor's cat. Fluffy is so cute!" She was only this sociable around he, but Fuji wasn't paying attention. There was a glint of a knife, and it was enough to raise a red flag, enough for him to stand and step out of the sandbox. Anna looked at him with a light pout and a sad look in her eye. "Don't you like my mountains?" Her question carried a bit of sadness.

"Of course I do, they're great." He looked over at the man and knelt at the sandbox. "Anna-chan, I need you to stay here, okay. Don't leave that spot no matter what. I need you to cross your heart."

"I won't leave, Shuusuke." Her reply was innocent, and surely the stranger had heard. Yet when he turned on his heels with full intentions of confronting the man before anything happened, he heard a cry behind him. He'd known right when he saw that man that they were being ambushed, and it probably wouldn't have been safe to leave, but he hadn't expected this. That teenage boy he'd seen only once before was holding a struggling Anna by the neck. "Shuusuke!" she cried in distress. Fuji's fists clenched. In the background, the crickets chirped. This was hardly a peaceful situation, though.

"One wrong move and I'll break her neck. It wouldn't be that hard." Fuji's heart clenched in fury at his threat; why, if it weren't Anna who was being threatened right here and right now, this boy would be in a world of hurt. _Nobody_ touched the people he cared about it and got out of it uninjured. Fuji simply couldn't allow such a thing.

A pair of arms pulled him from behind, pulling the very breath from his lungs. Fuji took a shaking gasp. It hurt now to breathe. He registered dimly the feeling of being slammed hard against an oak tree. The teenaged boy didn't let go of Anna, and by the time he did he joined the other in pinning Fuji against the tree.

Now, Fuji _couldn't _struggle. He tried, he even kicked a few times, but it got no reaction of the foes, and he couldn't do much considering both arms and legs were pinned firmly to the bark. It made his back ache in a horrendous, searing pain; it bruised him. Once again, he was faced with that teenaged boy's eyes. Anna came and tried to rescue him. "Leave him alone! What are you going to do?" She clung to the teenager's leg, but he kicked her off with no effort. Fuji's eyes were wide open, angry.

"What a pretty face." His smirk revealed gleaming white canines. "Such anger, though." He clicked his tongue lightly. Fuji's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps we should fix that." His lips were just barely against his neck before a deep voice called out.

"What are you doing, you two?" The voice was stern, and over the shoulder of the teenager, he saw a man probably only a few years older than Fuji stoop to pick up a sobbing Anna. She whimpered into his arms, but unlike her normal reaction to strangers, she only pointed her small finger over towards Fuji, her lips trembling. It took him a minute, as I he was trying to decide whether or not he should intervene in the situation. Fuji's pulse raced just beneath pale, colorless lips that were too close for comfort.

"Let him go." Fuji was slightly unpinned, but the teenaged boy turned back to the older man, challenging him with the hair on the back of his neck slightly raised.

"Take the girl or something, or find your own. I got him first." Fuji's eyes were narrowing again. It wasn't all that pleasurable being referred to as if he was property. Anna wasn't, either. Why, if that man hurt Anna…. Fuji's fists clenched, his teeth ground. He was looking more like a mad dog not sure to whom to attack first. The man was calm, surveying the situation and deciding what to do.

"My orders don't have to do with anything that you speak of."

The fight persisted. "Come on, I've been waiting for this for _months._ Why do you have to have him?"

"Both of you," the man's voice was still soft, but it held a very dangerous note, perhaps as strong as the one's that Fuji was able to muster. The two men looked up, suddenly frightened by his tone. "_Go, or there will be consequences._ We will discuss this later." Both grunted, and Fuji found himself being released very rapidly. His knees gave out and he fell to the ground. Anna squirmed lightly within the man's arms, straining to get towards Fuji. The man knelt beside Fuji and released Anna. She immediately clung to him, but he could tell that her eyes were firmly affixed t this strange man. The two others left the park muttering about how this man, now dubbed "Tezuka" ruined all the fun.

Fuji opened his mouth. He supposed he deserved an explanation for what had happened. "What are you doing out so late, and with a young girl?" His question was expectant. Fuji's eyes looked up, firmly affixed on the strange man who had saved him from the two creepy others.

"Why does it matter to you?" He completely ignored Fuji's retort. Nobody was able to ignore it before. He had done it successfully, though, brushing it off as if it were nothing.

The man wasn't too strange looking he supposed, aside from being pale. Handsome features stood chiseled. The man was a tall figure, with messy hair and hazel eyes, hidden behind rimless glasses. Perhaps the strange thing about him was his outfit. He wore a long, black trench coat, rather heavy for the night. It didn't look bad on him or anything… it was just that it wasn't the sort of season he should have been wearing it.

Fuji was sure right now that this pressure he felt on his chest, weighing it heavy was annoyance, annoyance that the man had already pried into his business and was now ordering him around. His pulse still raced having yet to calm as the man's eyes swept over him, acting as x-rays, trying to extract the truth.

"_Do you believe in love at first sight?"_

Fuji's eyebrow raised in remembrance of that question.

"You shouldn't be out here. The next time such a thing happens, you might not be so fortunate." He picked up Anna and bade him to stand. Fuji looked to be challenging a rock; it was like he was trying to race with it, and despite the fact that he had working legs and the rock did not, the rock was still winning. Frustrating as it was, he did probably save Anna… Fuji was remaining firm in the fact that given a few minutes, he would have been able to take care of the situation on his own.

"Where are you going?" Tezuka began to move, with Anna in his arms. Anna called after him, reaching out gently. He followed without question. The man gave no answer, but as soon as he was out of the park, he asked where Anna lived. Fuji reluctantly gave an address, and they were off. People weren't on the streets at this time of night, but Fuji was sure that they would have stared if they had been. His eyes flicked towards this man whom had been called Tezuka. This man knew his way around well, though he was like a shadow, slipping through a few alleys and taking a route Fuji never would have normally took. The moon cast a glow across the street, and the man's skin seemed to glow with it; he seemed inclined to that moonlight, energized by it.

They reached Anna's doorstep a minute later and he set her on it. "Don't wander out by the park again, not at this time of night." He told Fuji firmly. With that, he turned heel and began to walk away, his coat swishing behind him like a storm cloud. Fuji suddenly stopped.

"Anna, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He stood fully and his feet moved before he could think. He was following the man, almost somebody who would be a person to be on a wanted poster. He didn't have that certain cruelty about him most street criminals did. In fact, he didn't seem entirely safe. He seemed almost to the likeness of one of those men who ended up going crazy and becoming a secret serial murderer.

Fuji ignored it. He'd always been the one to be stubborn about things like that.

"You're following me," he noted a minute later. His voice was stern; almost in the way a leader would order his follower. This man wasn't his ruler, though. Fuji was determined to get what he wanted from the man: a name, and an explanation.

"That wasn't my home. It was Anna's. I can walk myself home, by the way." The man turned to him. They slowly reached a stop. The wind was quiet. "I want your name, and I want to know what happened back there. Why did they listen to you?"

"I am their leader," he answered. Fuji looked at him, and tapped his toe. The cool wind passed. A car passed. It didn't break their silence. Fuji's tapping foot continued. He looked as if he was angry, and ready to challenge Tezuka at something. "And my name is Tezuka Kunimitsu." Fuji's eyebrows raised, knit together, and then fell. He wanted to punch the man, for some strange reason. His hand shook, rose, and was stopped by Tezuka's hand. Fuji's eyes dilated. Perhaps he only gave that information because he thought it would likely make Fuji go away, go home.

Flash one, Tezuka's fingers were pushing down his arm.

"Tezuka…" the name sounded like it hadn't been said in Western order. It sounded like it was more of a family name, than anything. "So you're Japanese?" Maybe he had ended up putting up with locals confusing Japan with China, too. There was a firm nod.

"Yes." A smile curled across Fuji's lips.

"I am, too. I was born in Kyoto."

Flash two, Fuji's hand fell to the side, with Tezuka's still hovering slightly above his. Their fingers twined for a minute, only by accident.

"Tezuka-san…"

Flash three, and Tezuka's head was bowed in low apology. Fuji usually wasn't used to feeling like this. His heart skipped a beat, and Fuji disliked it very much.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Fuji-kun." When he spoke, Fuji realized that it revealed two gleaming white teeth that were sharper than normal. Tezuka's eyes were dilated for just a second, and in that one fleeting millisecond, he gave Fuji a hungry look. Soon enough, though, it disappeared. Tezuka was quiet. He didn't seem to be one very much inclined to words.

What _was _he?

Flash four, Tezuka was walking calmly in the opposite direction, and by the time Fuji was able to feel movement in his legs again, he was gone. Fuji was left alone on the street, wondering if he had imagined an extremely handsome man standing before him on the sidewalk. Fuji would let go, his thoughts taking flight.

He would fly away…

Into the sun…

That strange feeling in Fuji's chest wouldn't go away.


	3. Chapter Two DREAMS

**Important, Please read: **_Over the next few days, this story is going to go under a major upheaval of the structure. I want to make my explanation quick, though it took me forever to figure out how to fix the confusing chapter structure of this. DREAMS and MEMORIES do not refer specifically to whether it's a dream or memory anymore. Rather, DREAMS is allotted to Tezuka's POV [I'll put in the name anyways, so it makes sense. Likewise, MEMORIES will be in Fuji's point of view. After three days, to prevent confusion, this chapter will switch places with chapter three. _

_Also, it will say at the beginning of the chapter if it's a dream or in the past. Up until the story gets a little farther, all of the chapters, excluding the prologue, will be memories or dreams. This chapter will be in Tezuka's POV about his meeting with Fuji. _

**Disclaimer: **Everything is credited to Konomi Takeshi. I am only borrowing the characters.

**Notes: **Chapter inspired by Nakashima Mika. She has wonderful music and her lyrics are moving. If you ever get the chance, listen to her. I'm sorry this took so long! I've been in a not-so-good mood. Thank you for all the reviews, though.

* * *

**Chapter Two- DREAMS**  
_-Tezuka-  
The Past_

The moon was bright tonight, casting a dim and pale light against everything. The soft, unsettling glow might have bothered many, but for one group of people, it was like a sunbath. Tezuka personally liked such a thing, too.

The moon was the closest thing he could come to with sunlight nowadays, and part of it had depressed him for the longest of times. He was able to venture into artificial light, but it had never been quite the same as the natural light. Tonight, though, the pale, glowing light of the moon shown on the sidewalk as a few people strolled down the street, their shadows cast from the light pouring from shop windows. Things had yet to quiet down; the air was still thick with amicable chatter as many workers made their way towards home, and the university students headed out for a night on the town.

Of course he blended in well, just as a chameleon would. The pale ethereal glow that his radiated off him didn't go unnoticed. He was receiving a few stares for it. However, he seemed just like a normal human being aside from that.

A younger woman squeaked and pointed her finger at him, because she clearly didn't remember it was highly rude to point in such a way. With his head turned down, and his eyes showing little interest in her, he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, the moonlight catching them so that they glared. As he edged through the crowd past the woman, he was sure that her eyes were boring holes in the back of his head.

All this was a typical night in the eyes of Tezuka Kunimitsu. Undesired, but all the same, it was normal in all aspects.

A dark feeling was biting at his soul.

This one thing was something Tezuka had never been able to quite shake off for a very long time. In his life, minutes melted into hours; days melted into years. Time was all the more irrelevant when one was immortal. In a human life, one could never predict when death may have come knocking on the front door. Anything could happen to a human.

People like Tezuka, though, were much harder to kill and far more elusive.

Well, at least the ones that had at least a scrap of brain in their head. His fingers touched his temples lightly, rubbing in soft circles as if he had a headache induced by the crowds' antics.

When he crossed the street and made it into one of the more dangerous neighborhoods, there was a significantly less amount of people, which had been what Tezuka was aiming for all along. His lips parted in what might have been a content sigh, but no sound passed, and his footsteps remained to be the only audible thing. Even here, many people refused to touch him. Tezuka had a certain standoffish behavior that he presented well when walking in these neighborhoods, and if he were ever to be apprehended it would either be by somebody of marginal strength, or somebody who was so out of their mind that they didn't notice the certain aura that Tezuka presented.

Here, there might have been fireflies. The chirp of the crickets was soft, lulling like a metronome. Tezuka missed seeing fireflies. Whenever he got a chance to get out of the city to somewhere more rural, that was what he looked for. As a child, they seemed magical. Giggles rang through his mind as a memory passed; he watched his childhood friends chasing the bugs and trying to catch them in their hands. Every so often, they would catch one, and there would be a small upspring of cries of joy.

"_Kunimitsu! Kunimitsu!" _

Tezuka's eyes flashed for a moment. The voice was distinctly a memory, so faded that it had been transferred to a thin carbon paper. The lead on the paper was wearing thin and had been smudged. Tezuka could just barely make it out anymore.

"_Come chase fireflies with us."_

The younger version of Tezuka paused briefly, his large eyes calm, unblinking. They looked at him for a minute, their faces significantly softer than his as a child's face should have been. Tezuka seemed not to see the point of it, until one of the girls, a red-haired one, grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. She caught his hands gently and smiling, she revealed a blinking light sitting right in Tezuka's palm. Unlike many others, this one didn't fly off. In fact, it seemed rather reassured, sitting right in Tezuka gentle grasp.

"_See? Isn't it fun, Kunimitsu?"_

Tezuka, with his cheeks slightly warm, joined his friends in catching the fireflies. Unlike the others, though, he always let them go, watching as the golden, blinking lights faded into the darkness slowly, melting softer colors into his vision. That night had been one of the last of Tezuka's more pleasant memories, though strictly speaking his childhood had been very memorable. Tezuka had never been one to reminisce, though. Before this, he didn't like to daydream. He liked to look firmly ahead to the future.

All the rest faded into darkness before the sudden crimson cut across his mind, a bloodbath.

Maybe, subconsciously, he knew that there wasn't too much to look forward to in the future, so he in turn looked at the past for comfort. In his mind, a tiny young girl smiled at him, her messy red hair hiding her eyes and face for the most part. She looked up at him and gave a small wave, he gray eyes reflecting nothing but darkness. That was all Tezuka had left of her, a young American girl who had been one of his best and only friends in childhood.

Everything faded to black in his mind, like a scene from a movie. Tezuka watched as each of his memories slowly crumpled to ash as each was replaced by a less fond memory, with one less precious thing in his life. There were few friends now, none as important as that young girl. Another boy who had been his age, with soft brown hair and a polite exterior jolted him. There was nobody like that now. The twilight glittered tonight, or so it seemed. The moon reflected everything well, and Tezuka would likely be out all night enjoying it. The moonlight was as close as he would ever get close to being sunbathed. One never realized how much they would miss the light until it was gone, until they saw the sun rise on the last day, not knowing that come sunset, they would be living a completely different life.

He had places to be tonight. He needed to make sure that everyone was out of trouble, as they frequently defied his rules by ambushing young girls. Tezuka had strict rules about that, something that he tried to keep, but he often saw how raw the need for blood, _human blood_, got. Tezuka himself wasn't sure that after all this time, he would be able to live off an animal's blood anymore. He had vowed that he would no longer drink human blood, though, and anybody wishing to ally with him would follow that rule.

There were people who liked to defy the rules, but Tezuka would not have it. He would stand firm on them, even when burning thirst threatened his throat. Vampirism, in his opinion, was a wretched thing that he had been bestowed with. He had not asked for it, rather, he had been ambushed. Tezuka didn't like it. The curse crept across every inch of his sole, ensnaring his mind, senses, and appearance. It was a plaguing addiction that would never fade, the thirst for blood that would never be permanently settled.

Immortality was a good thing, but he refused to take blood from a human to preserve what most other people liked to call "eternal beauty." What Tezuka saw reflecting back in the mirror wasn't something he could see. They said that his kind didn't have reflections. Though they were translucent, they were indeed reflections. When Tezuka looked in the mirror, it wasn't a normal reflection he saw, though. Tezuka saw a pale, undefined form, like a ghost. His eyes were barely visible.

It was hardly a good thing.

He wasn't able to touch anything anymore, for it gave way under his fingers to something far foggier, something that wasn't able to be contacted even when one touched it. Tezuka wanted, but at the same time, didn't want so many things. He wanted certainly to be able to reach out and touch something solid, something that he could really put his fingers on. If this gift were to end, if he could be relinquished from the unrelenting hold of a wretched curse, he would be happy. Even then, at the same time he had the horrible flaw humans were supposed to only have. He wanted to survive, and to live. He wouldn't give up his life to release himself from the curse.

He had things to check on, though, didn't he? Taking his steps one at a time, letting his eyes survey the surroundings calmly for any sign of movement, he headed in the direction of a familiar place. "Hinesburg Park" was the name of it, and with the lack of light there, he knew many to enjoy the place. They, with their curling smirks and glinting teeth, didn't seem to care much about his rules. They only associated themselves with Tezuka for the little glory that came out of being able to know one of the strongest in the area. His aura didn't lie; he knew his way around, and his word was law in the amount of territory he'd held. Tezuka's iron fist as a leader, as well as his strong presence brought people who were willing to ally with him. He was far from charismatic, but he had one of the larges followings in the region, despite all that.

What might have driven others away were Tezuka rules that 'restricted' their own rights. Tezuka only gave a cool look. There was a lot of success tied to being able to associate oneself with the infamous Tezuka Kunimitsu, but if one seemed to slip on the rules once they had given him their word, there were often dire consequences. For the most part, Tezuka didn't have to worry about it. However, there were a group that was giving him a particular amount of trouble, and he had a bad feeling about what they would do tonight.

Even though Tezuka was not claiming to be friends with the humans, but he wouldn't speak of them being food sources as most others seemed to think. He ignored them and went about his duties as a leader. He could be stronger alone, he thought sometimes, and didn't know how exactly he'd gotten to be so influential. There were even other divisions adopting his rules nowadays. He closed his eyes and sighed. It just went to show how much control he really had over his own life, he thought with bitter sarcasm, biting at his mind with a cold undertone.

Maybe, after all these years, he was getting a little bored of everything around him.

Maybe he was searching for the thing that would wake him up a little. They said that Tezuka, the 'rock' didn't want excitement, and that was true, he guessed. Tezuka liked the utter redundancy, the predictability of his life. Tezuka did not like sudden changes in his life that rattled him. At least, that was what he thought. All those symptoms seemed rather indecisive to him.

His feet were never in too much of a hurry to carry him to the park, though. His concern for humans didn't extend that much that he went around making friends with them and saving every one of them. If one of his members disobeyed and he wasn't there to stop them, then they would receive the ultimate punishment of being banned from the region on penalty of the worst thing that could happen to one of their kind, death.

"That Tezuka is cruel," they would say about him, when they thought that he wasn't listening. "See, he wouldn't even care if one of us was killed. He wouldn't mind to be covered in the blood of one of us. Nobody knows why he likes those damn humans so much." There were a few curses under their breaths, and Tezuka ignored them. Sometimes things like that would pop up, and he easily ignored them. He wasn't the person to act on impulse. He didn't follow instincts or take revenge. He was fair and even with everyone, and could care less about such a medial thing as people not appreciating the way he chose to be a leader.

He was at the park now, walking past the entrance and under the streetlight. His eyes flickered darkly under it, the hazel seeming to transform into flames that danced easily under the artificial light. He went back to basking in moonlight as his silent, refined footsteps traveled farther and farther into the park, where the crickets chirped. A girl's sobbing met his ears, and Tezuka shook his head, continuing to walk forward calmly. The crying gave his heart a small, foreign twinge, and Tezuka turned his head up. His eyes, well accustomed to the dark by now, after so many years of looking in them, looked for more figures. There were two shadowy ones, facing a tree.

They probably had noticed his presence here, though the two humans probably didn't notice at all. There was a soft murmur crossing his ear like a whisper of wind, somebody muttering sweet little comments under their breath. He was familiarized, as he got closer, with a racing pulse. This human wasn't stupid; he knew what being pinned against a tree meant. His two captors were doing a good job of pretending to ignore Tezuka's presence while managing to keep wary about him as well. When one leaned his mouth too close to the boy's throat, he chose to spoke up, nearing himself near the small girl and putting a hand on her head.

She was much like his childhood friend, he noticed, except she was making a face so much unlike the original. Her lips were trembling and she sobbed, her eyes full of tears. "What are you two doing?" Perhaps his voice was a little sharper than usual on account of the little girl. He looked at her for a minute and felt an odd sort of sympathy for her. Scooping her up into his arms, she pointed a small finger over to the boy they had pinned. Her tears were already dampening the sleeve of his trench coat, but he ignored it.

For a fraction of a second, he felt all thoughts disappearing at the amazingly captivating gaze that he saw from the human. Tezuka was somebody who showed very, very little emotion, so for him it was almost a marvel to see orbs so human, so perfect, and yet imperfect at the same time. They brewed a dangerous, untamable anger, but there was also a hint of panicked desperation in them, too. Even in the night, in the moonlight, they cut through perfectly, piercing Tezuka for a moment before he was able to collect himself and brush off the small, strange feeling that he felt. Now, that wasn't something he was used to feeling. His heart fell haphazardly, and they argued with him. Whatever feeling he had felt a moment ago was gone; his heart had fallen painfully to the ground and he felt no more.

Maybe he could understand them, halfway. With those eyes, he was probably very tempting. Tezuka straightened his posture and frowned more, keeping the girl tight against his chest. The last thing he wanted was for her to get involved. Her tiny heart was racing, and when he stomach pressed his arm, he could tell by the tender-seeming nature of the skin that a bruise was forming. They had probably kicked her once already. She, with her thinning red hair, reminded him too much of his childhood friend for him to leave the situation alone.

"Let him go," he warned, and they backed off only slightly. The boy stumbled when the pressure against his chest was relieved. His eyes flickered closed, back open once again, and then closed. He was giving Tezuka an odd look, something that he wasn't able to place. He wasn't able to tell what exactly this boy was thinking.

_Let go of him now._

His eyes were strict and pressing, and the girl in his arms cried out, calling him 'Shuusuke'. In these parts of the world, it was indeed a unique name to hear, but it brought back a warming familiarity that Tezuka liked and treasured. He showed now sign of it, though. His face remained set in stone.

"Take the girl or something, or find your own. I got him first." Tezuka's features sharpened, and he didn't back down. They didn't defy him without reason. They'd probably been watching this boy for months. Neither was really romantically inclined towards boys, as one might have thought. They just seemed to like the taste better. He was thinking right now that the boy needed to calm down. His fists were clenched, as if he was ready to beat somebody up. Tezuka paused for a minute.

"My orders don't have to do with anything that you speak of." His voice was very firm, and it warned that if they didn't soon drop what they were doing and leave, that there would be punishment involved.

His punishments were boringly practical, but it was enough to make anybody groan. Tezuka was traditional like that. Pausing lightly, he looked over to the two, giving them a sharp look. The backed off another fraction, but they didn't seem to be quite ready to let go of the person that they had dubbed as 'prey'. His eyes did not fade in their warning, while the little girl struggled in his arms, calling out to the boy. He couldn't let her go yet.

"Come on, I've been waiting for this for _months._ Why do you have to have him?"

They were persisting to a point that they shouldn't have persisted, and Tezuka's eyes grew darker, slightly. The boy seemed to pause. Maybe he had noticed that his eyes changed shades just at that moment. The shift wasn't too magical—the hazel had just grown darker, hinting at more of a punishment.

"Both of you," He was insinuating every warning possible, telling them to drop what they were doing and leave right away. Maybe they got it. Maybe they didn't. There were some people who were intelligent and followed, him, but for the most part the ones who followed so blindly were a bunch of rule-breakers who could have been just a little smarter, at least. Tezuka, at that moment, considered abandoning his position of leadership for a more solitary life, but soon went back to the present.

"_Go, or there will be consequences._ We will discuss this later." That was finally enough warning for them, because they picked up what they were doing, released the boy completely, and grunted. Tezuka was feeling slightly satisfied, though that satisfaction was only fleeting. They were displeased, but without another word they darted out of sight. Tezuka moved closer to the boy and released the girl, who ran up to him and immediately latched on to him. His well-trained ears caught the last comments of his followers, and his frown deepened.

"No fun." What did that have to do with anything?

The boy who he had saved looked at him without very much gratitude and straightened up. He seemed to wish to challenge him, and was almost upset when Tezuka didn't return the challenge. Tezuka wasn't a fighter, and he saw absolutely no point in this. Besides, he was only a human. Tezuka turned his gaze to the side, though it was hard to ignore such a pungent presence. Fuji made his existence known in a different way than Tezuka did. Tezuka didn't like it at all.

"You shouldn't be out here. The next time such a thing happens, you might not be so fortunate."

Tezuka really was just trying to find a way to dismiss the boy's annoying presence. It was a hard thing to do. His words were betraying of his intentions. He didn't really _care._ At least, that was what he was telling himself. He was able to sense a light prick of annoyance from the other. He usually wasn't that perceptive, but he was keeping track of the boy's emotions rather well. His eyes closed beneath his glasses, shutting out the boy that was giving him a strange look.

That boy was connected to the girl rather strongly, so if he brought the girl away, he would follow. Tezuka, being so quiet, had developed well-adapted senses of what to do in a situation, not to mention, excellent observation skills. He picked up a surprised girl, and turned on his heel, walking away. The effect was immediate.

"Where are you going?" His voice was not as worried as it was slightly angered, daring him to take the girl any further. Tezuka kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead, not bothering to look back. The boy was following closely behind, even when he probably got the impression that Tezuka had no intention of hurting either of them. It had grown late; there was almost nobody on the streets. The boy followed persistently behind him and Tezuka didn't stop until they were far from the park.

"Where do you live?" The boy gave him an address immediately, and after rummaging through his memories to figure out where exactly it was, he led the boy through twisting alleyways, pausing in an empty lot for a minute to absorb the moonlight. It felt good to be out here, with the moonlight reflecting so eerily off of his skin. The boy probably had no idea where he was; people usually didn't use alleys as means of transportation. After all, they were usually dangerous, though not so much for Tezuka.

They reached it and Tezuka felt a strange wave of relief, and immediately after setting the little girl on the doorstep next to her companion, he looked at them seriously. Right now, he could have turned heel and just walked away. Still, he found tedious words escaping his lips, words that he wouldn't normally have spoken to a stranger.

"Don't wander out by the park again, not at this time of night." With that, he was able to turn and walk away, after that small reprimand. Why he had given it, though, he didn't know. He closed his eyes and willed himself to forget about everything that had happened. It was hard, though. He began his slow walk back, but something was wrong. He paused at the sound of footsteps. The boy was following him. Tezuka closed his eyes and turned.

"You're following me," he said plainly, with no false pretense. His voice was stern, but not the sort of tone he should have used towards a stranger. It was as if he was speaking to one of his subordinates, somebody that Tezuka expected would obey. This boy seemed rebellious and free-willed. If he wanted to follow, then he would as long as Tezuka didn't do something to scare him off. He seemed stubborn about this. He turned and began walking again with the idea that if he ignored it, he would soon be alone again, though obviously that was all wrong.

"That wasn't my home. It was Anna's. I can walk myself home, by the way." Again, he turned and looked at him with plain eyes, blinking behind glasses. Tezuka sometimes seemed as ancient as he really was, and the boy seemed to notice it, though he said nothing about it, rather, continuing with what he was saying. "I want your name, and I want to know what happened back there. Why did they listen to you?" He owed no explanation to this boy. Why was the kid asking for one? The one thing that Tezuka had to respect was that the boy wasn't relenting. For that, he gave an explanation, just to make things easier.

"I am their leader," His answer was simple, plain. Then, he gave his name quickly, though nobody usually got this if they were just off the streets. For a moment, his eyes scanned Fuji quickly, looking over the strange features, from the skin tinted with just the right amount of color, to the light brown hair that fell just slightly past his cheekbones.

The boy was tapping his foot a little, challenging him.

At this, there was a twinge of annoyance. This was completely uncalled for. "And my name is Tezuka Kunimitsu."

The boy's eyebrows raised and then knitted together in an odd expression. Now he wasn't acting so much as a woman as he was just acting strangely. Tezuka wasn't able to quite understand this. Eyes dilated, with perhaps the intent to do some harm to Tezuka; he raised his hand in a fist. Tezuka's fingers brought it down gently.

Touching the boy's skin, though, made him feel immensely dizzy, and there was a flash of bright light. The boy's arm was down at his side, with Tezuka's hand hovering lightly above it. Tezuka's own eyes were dilating slightly when he touched the skin lightly. Surprisingly, the boy didn't recoil. Hadn't he noticed that Tezuka's fingers were ice cold?

Maybe not… electricity was springing through his fingers. There was another bright flash, but Tezuka was able to stand straight without showing any signs of disorientation.

"Tezuka…" The boy murmured his name softly, as if it was something intimate and forbidden. Not bade by anything, it sent a small shiver down his spine, just the very tone of the sentence, the very pretense. He was feeling strange, as if he had just been plunged into a bucket of ice-cold water, and then into a pool of searing magma. The boy's expression was strange, something he wasn't able to decipher.

"So… You're Japanese?" Not many people asked him this question. He was seriously considering ignoring it altogether. The boy was casual, though, now easier to talk to and confront. His feminine confrontation had evened out. He was able to see that this boy did, indeed, act like a boy. It just took a while for him to even out.

"Yes." That was how things always were; his answers would always be that short. He would never add anything unnecessary to them unless the situation demanded it of him. He wasn't much of a chatterbox, and he certainly did not like making small conversation like this. This boy wasn't all too covert.

"I am, too. I was born in Kyoto." Tezuka was born in Oosaka, a city by the sea. He decided not to mention it, though.

With that, he gave the boy one last look, trying to memorize the even lines of his faces. The strange, overpowering feeling, the desire to reach out and touch the boy shocked him enough that he resumed his normal expression, turned, and walked away without giving so much as a polite farewell.

For the briefest moment, their fingers had twined out of their own accord, and Tezuka decided that he needed to get some distance from the odd person.

He needed to get away and think about why this human was acting so strange, and why when he had been shivering just a minute ago, he was suddenly white hot, as if he had trodden across a pit of hot coals.

All he did before he left was incline his head respectfully. The boy seemed bewildered.

When he walked away, he didn't turn back.

As he walked ahead, his steps falling slowly on the street, he looked back, after about ten minutes of walking. Perhaps he expected that he would see the boy following him, something that would have escaped his refined senses. There was nobody there, though, and the place was deserted except for a man sweeping dirt of the sidewalk in front of his shop. Eyes narrowing slightly, Tezuka continued walking. However, only a few minutes later, there was a familiar noise behind him. If it had not been for his sensitive reflexes, he wouldn't have been able to duck and catch a knife that flew in the direction of the back of his head. Turning to the person behind him, he snarled.

"Wolfe," He muttered, his voice trailing no sense of fondness. A thin, tall man stood before him, smirking madly. Knives and crucifixes made up his arsenal. This was one of the few people that Tezuka really had to worry about, considering there were few things on earth that were able to kill him. Carelessly, he threw the knife over his shoulder. The man's brown eyes, ridden with fatigue, showing dark smudges under each eye, were narrowed coolly. His clothes, patched in many places along with seams along the knees being sewn sloppily might have showed this man to be rugged, and not the sort of person to cross.

"Thought you didn't help humans, Tezuka."

In the world, Tezuka had few enemies. This man enjoyed killing off a good deal of his group every year though, and he aimed for the biggest target of them all, firmly convinced that Tezuka would cause many deaths if he wasn't disposed of quickly, squashed like a bug.

"I will not tolerate disobedience from people who chose to name me their leader."

The man smirked and lunged. In turn, Tezuka took a step back. It was like a dance, responsive. A noticeable thing, though, was that Tezuka was on defense, not offense. His eyes flickered towards the man, and he took a skillful leap backwards when another knife, soaked in water and poison was thrown his way. This time, he wasn't as lucky. The knife skimmed his shoulder and burned the skin. Tezuka winced and the man smiled wider.

"Or so you say. You should pay attention to the news. There's been mysterious murders around here lately, and you seem to be more friendly with the humans." Tezuka paused lightly and ignored him, allowing him to go onward with his accusations. His lips grew into a deeper grown.

"You walked _him_ home today. What is with that?" Tezuka dodged a strike aimed at his chest.

"Do you have a point?" He seemed to be trying to get at something, but Tezuka didn't understand it at all.

"Leave Fuji alone."

"_Who?_"

"Fuji! Fuji Shuusuke! That boy you walked home today." Tezuka might have protested, but after a few better-placed attacks, the man threw water over him. It caught his arm only, but it singed, burning his skin and forcing him to retreat. He was soon out of sight of the man, but he could hear him yelling about how he would regret everything if he touched Fuji ever again.

That night, he blinked and reached out towards the night sky, hoping that the twilight was a permeable being.

So Fuji was his name…

The blue eyes cut through the darkness, leaving Tezuka rather unsettled.

What a strange boy…


	4. Chapter Three DREAMS

Here we are—another chapter. (Finally.) I'm back from camp, and until the end of July, I'm good for writing. At least, I think. I have two brand new wonderful books that I get to read and a school project though, so we'll see. (I also have camp anecdotes!) August brings school and five-hour band practices.

Please review, though!

Disclaimer: All belongs to Konomi Takeshi. I smile for the manga-ka and animators. And I don't take credit for their wonderful work.

Edit: Many, many thanks to Ketchup for Blood pointing out some mistakes I made. It should be all fixed, and if it isn't, I'll be glad to edit it again.

* * *

**Chapter Three- Dreams**_  
-Tezuka-__  
The Past  
_

_Pretend that it doesn't hurt.__  
_

_Pretend that it's never there._

They were two figures dancing in the moonlight, their silhouettes illuminated by the glow of a harvest moon. Dancing, though, might not have been quite the word to describe it. On the shore nearby, a wave slammed into rock. The wind carried salty sea spray all the way over to the place where they stood, their shadows casting darkness against the gray stone.

Technically, it was nothing but a fading wisp of a relationship, blowing away as easily as grains of dirt. The wind would carry it to the ends of time, anywhere; the moon, the stars, the bottom of the ocean, because no matter what, it wouldn't matter.

But as he was a rock, not a grain of sand, or a piece of dirt as was their relationship, he wasn't able to follow it; he could only watch the sand as it was carried away into the sunset. At the sea, he would sink, and rocks certainly couldn't fly. His eyes would squint though, and he would adjust his glasses a little so that he would be able to see the moonlight better. The dancing wind, carrying with it the presence of another, brought his gaze up so that he was looking in another direction. There stood another grain of sand to match their relationship. In the moonlight, his glasses flashed, disguising dilated pupils, looking at him in the strangest way possible.

A little at a time…

Breathing deeply, he took one step forward, and the wind carried the grain of sand, _his _grain of sand farther and farther. It was in darkness, and though his eyes were trained for the twilight, the hours in the dead of night when only the dying lurked, he wasn't able to see anymore. His fingers slipped past him, but the darkness was not an open door. His fingers contacted a burning hot barrier, and he felt his fingertips singe for a moment. Without any sign of pain, he drew back his reddening, raw fingertips back in exchange for the cooler night. His feet brought him to a wooden boardwalk, and his feet fell softly after that, as if he was stepping on something as light as air. Calmly, he walked over to the railing and leaned against it, searching for the grain of sand that had been lost.

Did he not deserve it?

Even if this figurative grain of sand was particularly beautiful, there was no reason why he shouldn't have been able to be allowed this one thing. He was not one to throw a fit over anything, and he wasn't. Rather, as his glasses glinted, he looked up to the darkened sky asking for answers from nobody. Whether it happened to be a letter from nowhere, or the assurance of a person who knew the future, he would take it.

He would take it no matter what, at whatever price. Whenever. Wherever.

Their relationship, to say, was more than a grain of sand now. Firming, smoothing over the edges, they grew to trust each other more. Yet, at the same time his heart was asking for the other not to trust him, to scorn him and run away. Why that was, he never knew. His calm, stoic exterior didn't allow for him to think that deep, at least at the time. He knew well that he had nothing to worry about, but the other faced a threat of completely different proportions, made up of different proponents. There was a little bit of everything, one could say.

The grain of the sand wasn't able to realize things about the rock, though. For one, though the rock couldn't go many places, the rock made a suitable weapon. What could a grain of sand do as compared to a rock in terms of physical harm? Nothing. It was rendered completely harmless. The day pigs flew was the day that a single, non-altered grain of sand would be able to crush the rock into tiny pieces.

The rock, for instance, made a suitable weapon when thrown at a person's head. Sure, it wasn't the most civilized things to do, but rocks could do anything from making a young child cry, to bruising a person's arm, to breaking bone, and to crushing a person completely. That was what would happen to the grain of sand if it stayed near the crushing power of the rock too long; it would be ground down further, cast into the sea, and scattered by the wind while the rock went on, as the earth slowly began to erode the rock into sand as time passed.

The sand, however, would not be changed very much. It may be broken down and scattered, but it would always be sand, and it took a lot to really break that sand down in the first place.

Tonight they had agreed to meet at the beach. Or rather, the one like the grain of sand had agreed to it and decided that he would drag the rock along with as well.

For a grain of sand, the boy had a strong will, and a rather forceful personality to match.

At least, the other had agreed. For a grain of sand, he had a lot of pushing force especially against the rock. The rock patiently stood his ground, but the allowed what he thought of as acceptable and let the grain of sand do as they wish.

So really, it had been the grain of sand's idea.

Beautiful, beautiful…

The man standing before him, _his _grain of sand, was late. He showed no instance of caring, but the expression in his eyes strengthened, hidden momentarily when he turned his head to give the other his silent regards. The glint traveled down his lenses, turning them a shimmering white, one that cast reflections on the wooden railing of the boardwalk. The glare on his glasses disappeared, and the light of the moon seemed to fade. Off in the distance, a car roared recklessly past on the road, the sound of the engine fading into the silent night along with the glaring headlights that made both draw back for just a fraction of a second. So silently, he lifted his head, his lips put in a thin gesture of regard. The lack of emotion in it wasn't a shock. It was neutral, cool, slightly stern, yet behind that glinted the remnants of something else. Something else pulled at the strong, ironclad chains he had crafted especially for them, so that they would never be able to escape, perhaps for the other's own good.

The boy he knew before him, rather attractive, and absolutely breathtaking by many people's standards, was something his eyes had familiarized themselves with, even though he never admitted it. Tezuka probably didn't even consciously realize that this was happening. He only thought it, as his eyes followed in a methodical path, a path that found a small imperfection today, an ugly purple of a bruise appearing under the shirtsleeve. He had pulled it down tightly to conceal it, but it didn't seem to have worked. His eyes spotted it, and the look he gave the other must have beckoned him to come over. As if following a set of unspoken directions the other stepped closer. He pulled up the sleeve to the elbow, finding that the bruise, a myriad of unnatural colors extended almost up to that spot on the side of the left arm. He paused, and his lips pulled down in a frown.

"_Is there something bothering you tonight, Tezuka-san?" _He spoke in his native language, the words sliding languidly across his tongue as if he meant to tease. His quiet, calculative voice seemed to smile upon the fact that he had induced that frown, that he was able to get a reaction out of the rock. Every once in a while, he seemed to tempt fate, tugging at Tezuka teasingly, taunting him in ways that he shouldn't have taunted.

"You're bruised."

He never prided himself in his words, for there were very few of them, but the other never seemed to get it. He was terse. There couldn't be so much to figure out, but it seemed as if there might have been, because he just looked at him as if he was clueless, as if to say something along the lines of '_What bruise?'_

"A small injury," he mentioned casually, pulling his arm away from Tezuka's grip with little effort. "I fell last night. An unwary tourist happened to knock me over." Tezuka easily detected the lie with it. Even around tourists, Fuji rarely fell down, especially when he fell so hard that it left a bruise. There was only one logical explanation after that; somebody else had inflicted it purposely. Tezuka's eyes traced up to the nasty, long bruise on his arm up on the shoulder as it pulled back, tugging his arm free from Tezuka's probing fingers. The slid softly away, but that frown did not vanish.

"Fuji." His voice was a firm reprimand, trying to state some authority over the other. Tezuka had none. No matter how small of a grain of sand Fuji was as compared to Tezuka's status as a rock, he had no right to declare that he could give him orders like this. Fuji knew it, too. His moods were fleeting sometimes. In order to humor Tezuka he would follow these orders once in a while, complying perhaps to give Tezuka the pleasure of the feeling of winning. Tezuka never really won. Fuji was just bored and decided to hand it over.

"As I said, a small injury."

Tezuka did not point out that he had purposely hidden the injury with the long-sleeved shirt. It wasn't a warm night, but Fuji had specifically worn that shirt because the sleeves went past his wrists. There was enough fabric so that he was able to tug them over, about to the length of his knuckles. It was only credible that Tezuka had found that bruise because of his acute observations. Perhaps he wondered if Fuji had other bruises under those clothes, and if the bruises were more than just a simple accident. If he had thought that, then Tezuka wasn't able to tell, and there was no way that he would be able to have perceived what sort of accident brought about this sudden injury. Bruises that large didn't just come from anywhere. Tezuka was wise enough to know that.

Fuji tugged his sleeve down again, and it came to rest just past the middle of his fingers. Tezuka looked at Fuji who gave a slow, languid stretch and then a small, quiet yawn. "Mm, Tezuka, how are you doing tonight?" This was the routine every night, a polite greeting in Japanese on Fuji's part. He always did most of the talking, because Tezuka never cared for words. He would listen to Fuji's strife, and that was all. Other than that, Tezuka was curt and stern, being very assertive. Fuji's assertiveness was different. He was able to assert his position in different ways than Tezuka was able to, and with a smile on his face to match. Their relationship, compromised of their half-conversations, wasn't well defined. Little kisses here, a little flash of a glance there. Fuji always seemed to be the one who was always intent on something more than that, but Tezuka was firm in his refutes.

Turning, he looked over at the ocean, still glinting sapphire blue even at night. Waves were crashing; the tide was traveling higher. The thick scent of salt hanging in the air, almost intoxicating to some people, had become what he had known for many, many years. It became on of Tezuka's few comforts in the world. The ocean, in the way he didn't like it, wasn't constant at all. There were storms; the ocean would always be dangerous. However, if one walked barefoot by the water's side, they would see that through that danger was something a little more consistent. The pull of the water at one's ankles would always be there, gently comforting him whenever he needed it. Considering the fact he had to deal with Fuji, an inconsistent personality, he needed something that would stay fairly constant.

Over the years, landscapes changed. Buildings changed. Seas drew back and formed massive glaciers. Ocean temperatures rose, and then fell. The ocean was constantly eroding the land, forming new land in its place. The oceans, though, had been there since the beginning of time, and covered the majority of earth's surface. Who couldn't say that, something, which had been there longer than any species in time, was constant?

:"Tezuka."

Usually, Fuji was fine with the silence that passed between them. He had to learn to be, after all. He connected with Tezuka like a leech, but Tezuka didn't very much want him around. If Fuji pushed a little too hard, he would have no trouble taking his leave. He didn't seem to be too much of a people person. Tezuka, at Fuji's voice, though, raised his eyes to Fuji's level, acknowledging him.

"Let's take a walk—I'd like to show you something."

Both of them, natively residents from the city, liked it out here. There was a tranquil sense in it, and considering they both knew the bustling city well, they liked the change of pace. Tezuka, of course, wouldn't have admitted it. His only excuse was that he liked to get away from what noise there was in the city. This, though partially true, was not everything there was to it. Tezuka didn't lie, but he also didn't willingly show every single one of his thoughts, and not often spoke of his emotions, most specifically in Fuji's case. Maybe this was what drew Fuji to him as bees were drawn to flowers. The strength of Fuji's will pulled him along, perplexed. Fuji never really functioned at the pace that Tezuka was used to.

"Will you come?"

"Yes."

The one, full of life, clutching a camera and a book to his chest, wasn't exactly Tezuka's foil, but didn't have very much likeness to Tezuka even when they were compared. Tezuka found to be that Fuji's ability to keep his mouth shut for at least ten minutes during companionable silences to be the thing that allowed him to get along with Fuji. Eyelashes fluttering, he danced ahead, onward. His steps were graceful for a human being, very sure of themselves.

Fuji was a very strong person, despite what others thought of him. He had a delicate exterior, like a porcelain dolls'; he was thin, and rather short as compared to Tezuka. When open, his eyes might have added a masculine touch. Fuji's eyes were sharp, and though his face was almost a little too soft, the lines of his jaw and shoulders were a little too straight and angular to be a woman's. His eyes would flash a sharp blue. Tezuka had only seen those eyes open once before, and he didn't plan on seeing them again anytime soon.

When Fuji led, Tezuka always followed three steps behind him, never one forward, and never one back. Fuji seemed to like it.

They were walking through the forest a ways away. The leaves brushed Tezuka as he walked past. The path here wasn't very good; worn, fading… Fuji seemed to be following it off the knowledge of the forest, off of the fact that he had come here before. When Fuji pushed off from the path completely, his feet landing in the brush only a few centimeters away, he looked over to Tezuka, expecting to follow. The night was young. They still had time, and even though considering as a leader, Tezuka usually had responsibilities to attend to, he was unusually free from those duties tonight. The schedule he'd made in his head lay blank, aside from the fact that Fuji had brought him all the way out here, seemingly only to enjoy the scenery. Was there more of a point to this? Fuji's voice had a warm edge to it, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything aside from the camera and sketchbook.

Fuji had been the one to call him out here.

He had been the one that had been late.

They reached a small clearing where the trees parted to reveal the night sky, and Fuji sat down right near a tree, brining his legs up to his chest and setting his camera and sketchbook on the ground. It was easy to see why Fuji had asked him to come here. To Tezuka's eyes, this was a place of natural beauty, something rare to see. Such things were never in the city, and almost never right outside of it like this one was. The trees were undisturbed, and their leaves rustled into the wind. There were some flowers in bloom. The grass grew long, far past Tezuka's ankles, near his knees.

In the day, there might have been butterflies. Tezuka didn't seem the person, but he liked butterflies. They brought back nostalgia, thoughts of better days. Tezuka didn't like to dream. He liked to look ahead. However, sometimes he couldn't help but simply sit down and enjoy what he was seeing in his mind. His childhood was far more pleasant than anything else that he knew. In fact, it was far more pleasant. There was less blood, though by this time Tezuka had long since grown accustomed to it.

Pausing, he looked at Fuji. He had the sketchbook open, and the pencil was fluttering across the page. From the angle that he stood at, he wasn't able to tell what exactly Fuji was drawing. He took a step closer, but Fuji stopped him all too suddenly.

"Give me a minute."

He was refining the lines, not making them so sketchy, and his eyes were focused down at the paper as if it fascinated him. Closely, they traced the lines over, making sure that they were right, checking for imperfections. Fuji exhaled, and Tezuka took a step forward. Before him was the sketchy outline of his face, done with quick details. Fuji had done well to mimic his expression. Across the features was a stern look. The only thing Fuji couldn't capture quite right happened to be Tezuka's expression; in the drawing, it looked blank, expressionless.

Fuji's eyes turned up to the sky, listening to silent questions posed by Tezuka.

"I like drawing you," he said simply. "You have an interesting face." Nobody had ever really told him such a thing before, but then again, nobody had ever been in such a close relationship with Tezuka before. Well, at least, they hadn't in a long, long time.

Fuji flipped through the sketchbook. Many of the drawings were of nature, butterflies mostly. Some were of other people, a man sitting in the coffee shop with his fingers clasped around a Styrofoam cup. There was even one of a girl riding a bicycle. All of them were drawn with stunning accuracy, realism. Some, though, were focused all on Tezuka. One was of him playing the piano, and another just of his face and hands. The piano picture had probably come from a picture Fuji had once taken of him. Surprisingly, Tezuka's one talent, for as long as he could remember, was playing the piano.

That day, he had been playing _Moonlight Sonata._

The soft, slow melody seemed to ring mysteriously across the atmosphere. Tezuka flexed his fingers lightly, remembering what it was like to play the notes. His fingers knew each key very well. They touched each key, and his wrists knew the exact direction to rotate. _Moonlight Sonata _was, by far, not the hardest song that Tezuka had ever played, but it was one of the few that he had memorized all the way through, that even after years and years of not playing the piano, he remembered very well. Each minute memory, remaining with him, as would any other part of him, made up who he was. The song was Tezuka's favorite, though some liked faster melodies. _Moonlight Sonata _was just at his speed.

"Kunimitsu,"

Here, they wouldn't be looked at strangely when Fuji used his given name, but considering that Fuji seemed to prefer using his family name, it surprised him enough that he wouldn't have been able to push away when he felt Fuji's forehead touch his. Their noses touched and Fuji's hand slid up to the side of his head, playing with a strand of hair, and then coming lightly into contact with his glasses. Tezuka's eyes slid shut

There was a quiet sigh, and then a high-pitched scream. It jolted Tezuka.

There was a bright flash across his vision, turning a bright, blinding white. Tezuka squinted into it, and then realized that Fuji's hand was gone from the side of his face, and he was nowhere in sight.

Fuji was slumped against a wall some ways away, and his breathing was slightly rough, as if he had just run for a long time. However, he mustered a smile at Tezuka and reached out, almost as a child would.

When Tezuka's fingers touched Fuji's, there was an explosion that sent Fuji reeling back, slamming hard against a wall. There was no sound that escaped his mouth. Slowly, he slid down to finally kneel on the ground. His eyes were wide. No breath passed his lips. He seemed frozen in time, until he slowly began to tremble. There was blood; the bruise he had pointed out earlier didn't matter anymore.

By the time Fuji had collapsed to his side, Tezuka finally managed to find the will to move, and the motive to act. Fuji's shirt was torn and bloody, and he was shivering, his skin turning pale in the cool of the night. Tezuka paused. Fuji was trying to speak, but he it didn't seem like he had enough breath in him to do such a thing. The smell of blood was driving him crazy, and he barely holding on to the sanity that he usually had.

Tezuka was a calm person.

However, the smell of blood caused another thing.

Fuji's fingers were close to his cheekbone, touching equally as pale skin smoothing the untamable hair in a gesture to forget the feeling. Fuji's mouth closed and his lips trembled. "I'm fine," he said, answering Tezuka's question that posed itself. Tezuka felt a sudden, inexplicable anger rise within him. Fuji was not all right at all. He was hurt.

It probably didn't hurt though, did it? Tezuka remembered those sorts of things.

Most likely, Fuji was in shock. He probably didn't feel the vast majority of the pain. When it came back, though, it would come back with even more pain. There wasn't anything that Tezuka was able to do to alleviate it. Tezuka felt a twinge in his heart. Fuji caressed his cheek, and the touch reminded him of the soft pressure against skin caused by the presence of a butterfly. Stunningly beautiful, many people would be tempted to reach out and touch it. He let it be. He let it continue.

Mostly, it was for fear that if he reached out to touch Fuji, that he would lose control.

Control was the only thing Tezuka had right now. Tezuka valued control more than anything else, self-control to be more specific.

It was slowly spiraling down the drain. Lips closer to Fuji's, he breathed deeply, different compared to Fuji's shaky, shuddering ones. He didn't know what he could do. As the shock began to wear off, Tezuka could see traces of more visible pain. He leaned down further.

"You!"

The angry scream came from neither Tezuka nor Fuji, but a common enemy. Tezuka felt like he had been hit by a ton of lead. A force encountered his side, perhaps breaking ribs. He skidded backwards and hit his head against a brick wall. The figure was stooping over Fuji, picking up the boy. Fuji wouldn't have even had the strength to fight back, but he didn't even seem to notice. His eyes were half-open, glossy, and clouded. They closed again and he took a shuddering breath, a gasp for lack of air.

His eyes were cold towards Tezuka, filled with extreme hatred, to the point where if the man weren't holding Fuji in his arms, he would have done unspeakable things to him. The little girl Fuji cared so much for was right behind him, asking questions tugging lightly at Fuji's unresponsive fingers. She was scared, he could tell—she was scared beyond all belief. Here dark eyes were wide, much like a dear in headlights, and when she saw all the blood she began to sob loudly. The man paid her no mind. Maybe it was because she was scared of him, as she was with so many other people. She had only followed along because he promised to help her find her "big brother" Shuusuke.

"You'll leave him alone!" The man shouted it when Tezuka turned his eyes to Fuji, in so much pain that he wasn't even able to blink. His eyes were wide, and though tears didn't fall they were filled with them. A spasm went through him, and he coughed violently. Blood came out on the man's sleeve. After the small sort of seizure, the rough, uneven breathing continued.

Tezuka stood. He felt blood on his lips; it was Fuji's. Carefully he licked it away, but he felt remorse, strangely. However much remorse he felt, though, nobody would have known. His eyes were just as cold towards the man, though they didn't promise to do unspeakable things. Maybe that was only because Fuji and the small girl were here. He took a step towards Fuji, and the man's eyes warned him. Somehow, though, he had the audacity to reach out and touch Fuji's face. Fuji groaned slightly in pain when Tezuka's fingers accidentally skimmed a gash on his cheek. Tezuka's hand fell down to his side.

"Kuni-" the soft voice sounded from below him. Anna held his clean hand with both hands and pressed her cheek to it. She hadn't been able to finish his name—Fuji had mentioned she had trouble pronouncing it. "Is Shuusuke going to be okay?" She tugged on his hand, her large eyes pleading. "Is he going to be okay?" Before he was even able to open his mouth, a voice stopped him.

"Don't you dare think of touching her, monster." Anna turned to him and looked at him hard. For a moment, the small girl looked intimidated, but then she said, in a rather small voice something that neither Tezuka nor the other man were able to hear.

"Kuni isn't a monster!" She was childish, not understanding the situation. Fuji and Tezuka had never known why she had taken to Tezuka so fast, but it was obvious about the fact that she thought he was a regular human being, just like everyone else.

He was about to take her hand, to walk her home and away from the man that held Fuji was very well aware that Shuusuke would be taken care of, but if he stayed around much longer, his own safety wasn't going to be ensured. This man would do more than just fight with him. He was willing to tear him apart in utter hatred, all for Shuusuke.

"I told you stay away from her! Now go, before you find yourself digging your own grave. A real one."

The threat was real. Tezuka's fists clenched. Anna touched his hand again. "Kuni?"

"_If you ever touch him again, if I ever so much as I find you even looking at Fuji again, you will be sorry, Tezuka. I will kill you if it is the last thing I do._"

Tezuka Kunimitsu woke up somewhere far away from where the dream had taken place, far away from Fuji Shuusuke. The dream had been haunting him for the longest time, ever since exactly one month when there had been an accident, when Tezuka had seen Fuji for the last time. Really, it was memories, but Tezuka considered it a nightmare. Always, it was the same. There would be a series of bright, white-hot flashes before his eyes, much like a camera. Anna and Fuji were always there, along with _him. _

"_Don't touch him again. Ever."_


	5. Chapter Four MEMORIES

Here we are, with another chapter. As I mentioned before, Chapter three and chapter two have switched places. Hopefully this format will be at least a little easier to understand. Thank you very much to anybody who reviewed. You're my constant support for this. Constructive criticism is loved.

I would like to know if you think that structure makes more sense. I actually was working pretty hard a week or so ago to figure out something that works and wouldn't make people's heads sizzle. (Including mine.)

**Disclaimer: ** Only the story setting and original characters are mine. Everything else is credited to Konomi Takeshi. I am only borrowing the characters for a while. Thank you!

* * *

**Chapter Four- Memories**  
_-Fuji-  
The Past__  
_

_Sirens echoed shrilly into the night sky, aside a large crowd of people, many newspaper reporters. Parting the crowd, men sped through with a stretcher, while police lifted the body gently into an orange body bag. There were whispers, and a distant scream in the crowd, somebody realizing with that the young girl, lying stiffly on the pavement, was dead._

"_Sir, how do you think it happened?" The questions of a fast-talking reporter seemed to be the only logical talk, directed at the head detective of the police department. In the background, police were taking photos of the crime scene, of the victim's face, and of the surrounding area. The yellow police tape had marked off the area within a good radius from the girl. _

"_Sir?" The detective had yet to respond. _

"_We are not sure, but we will seek justice for this innocent young woman's death." He finally responded a minute later, his voice sounded offhanded and distant. _

"_Do you have any theories about the cause of death?" The cause of death was quite obvious, really. The young woman in question, a Chinese American, a model famous for her sweet temperament and soft voice, lay pale on the sidewalk, with a slash wound across her throat. _

"_We aren't so worried about the girl as we are suspects and possible motives. Now, if you'll excuse me…" The man pushed his way through the crowd over to the ambulance. The number of people had significantly diminished, as it was growing late. He walked to survey the area around where the dead girl had lain just minutes before, with her eyes turned blankly, emotionlessly up towards the sky, with her hair pooling out calmly around her like eerie shadows. _

"_Emily Chang, Twenty years old, Model…" The detective was listing off stats on the victim,, as the scene faded to black, switching focus to a pair of golden-hazel eyes, a man standing there with pale, bloodstained skin. _

_The intensity of his eyes switched focus to him, locking on completely. There was a picturesque quality to those eyes, an irresistible beauty that probably drew in males and females alike. Those eyes flickered like firelight on Fuji, showing a strange, inexplicable emotion._

"_Fuji," the voice was soft and sweet, like a lullaby. A cool hand skimmed his throat, and his eyes fell shut, his breath escaping him gently. The man was closer than before, stroking his neck and kissing it lightly. The soft, musical quality of the man's voice had faded silently into the darkness, like a music box, growing more and more distant._

_There was an alarm going off somewhere, and a voice shouting that this wasn't the person whom he was looking at, but a monster, an animal…_

_Before Fuji could even scream… He was falling, dying, held securely in a pair of ice-cool arms. All that was left to hear was the soft drip of blood as it hit the ground. A pair of lips smiled against his neck, smeared crimson with blood. Everything went black. _

Fuji woke up, panting heavily. Throwing the covers over the side of the bed and suddenly hitting the floor with a resounding thud. He groaned lightly, pushing himself up as the panic began to fade.

By the next week, strange dreams had begun to settle over the obscured corners of his mind, and Fuji was still not settled over the strange encounter that he'd had with a man named Tezuka. Countless hours every night, he would sit up in bed, pushing the sheets down to his knees and stare up at the ceiling.

There was no answer to it, whether it was the strange look that Tezuka had given him, or the astoundingly close proximity they had been in together. That alone had been enough to make his heart race about ten times the normal rate; his emotions were racing across his eyes, and he was feeling silly. His head was sent reeling across the space, confused by the lot of it. Was this how woman felt? He felt silly for it, because he was no woman, nor should he have been feeling things in the manner that he did. He, one who usually was quite in-touch with his emotions and feelings, was confused. This couldn't be attraction, could it? Fuji said he wasn't gay, and in this he reassured himself very firmly.

Tezuka, an all too tangible being, hadn't seemed to be anything that could have possibly come out of the ordinary. In fact, it seemed more like Tezuka was a movie character than anything. There was a certain tangibility that prevented him from confirming his eyes by reaching out to touch him, too. His mind wasn't able to settle on the feeling, the feeling that there was something undeniably wrong with Tezuka, something that made him dangerous.

The danger hadn't been enough to ward him off, though.

No, it seemed to be quite the opposite. His feet were willed to move on their own and to follow Tezuka's path, to find out more about the strange oddity that didn't seem to be all that real. It… It was as if that if he actually did touch Tezuka out of his own accord, the man would disappear in a cloud of smoke, and for some reason, Fuji didn't want that to happen just yet.

Perhaps that is why his mind decided to play strange trick on him. A single black butterfly would flutter across his mind, and then visions of Tezuka would past. Some were real, but some, on the other hand, were all too obviously fabricated by his mind. Intriguing… He thought that it was intriguing that he saw such things, such strange behavior on all the people's parts.

So, his mind jumped to conclusions. Tezuka could be anything, but Fuji thought it was criminal, something that obviously involved a lot of danger. He'd seemed so calm, but wasn't that how they were? He was probably involved with gangs, a pretty large one. He seemed to have so much power and will that he did whatever he wanted, whenever. It was an interesting concept. Fuji never really had met somebody like that from a gang before. Tezuka defied all stereotypes, seeming calm and controlled, like he wouldn't hurt a fly. Fuji, though, out of all people, knew that this wasn't often correct. He was often judged for his seemingly delicate exterior, and was a lot stronger than many gave him credit for.

Beneath the delicate, fragile exterior was brewing danger, though Fuji wouldn't have exactly called it that.

Tezuka's strength was different. Tezuka radiated it. The way Tezuka carried himself, so confidently; it was obvious that he was proficient. Well, that, or he was a clone of Atobe Keigo, a Japanese friend of Fuji's who had followed him to America. Fuji highly doubted that.

There was one particular night that still lingered in Fuji's mind, that would bother him even more years from the time. The moonlight was filtering into his apartment window, joined occasionally by the headlights of a passing car, and the screech of a horn. The city was a crazy place, especially in America.

The screeching of tires was what woke him; at least, that's what he wanted himself to think.

Eyelids fluttering swiftly, he paused, his eyelashes touching the skin under his eye lightly, tickling it. Automatically, he sat up for just a minute, kicking the blankets to the foot of the bed without a care. He was rubbing his temples, trying to remember something. Then, with a thump he slumped back against his headboard and let out a slightly frustrated sigh.

The screech of tires hadn't been what woke him.

Darkly, a smile slid onto his expression, his eyes pressed shut and his eyebrows arched upwards as if in joy. Smiling was what Fuji did at almost all times. One could either draw that the smile was one to symbolize he was a very happy person, or decide that the smile wasn't really a smile at all, but something of a bad habit, like biting one's nails. The smile held a bitter note, but softened when all his ears encountered was silence, a deep, ringing silence.

His entire face burned, touched by fire. On the contrary, the rest of his body was ice cold, and in a sudden reaction he pulled the blankets up to him. Fuji lay down on the bed again; his was against the pillow, and he paused for just a second before letting his breath escape again.

There had been a dream, something that he couldn't quite remember. The clock, burning into his eyes, told him that it was five-thirty in the morning. The dream, which he was quick to jump back to, had been about Tezuka again. His whole head ached when he tried to recall it properly. No, it hurt too much. It made his face burn even more, as if from fever. Fuji wanted to pace around his room, but he was shivering, and didn't want to pull the blankets away from his body. Gingerly, he got up; the blankets were still wrapped around him when he tested his weight on the floor as if he expected that his knees were going to fail out on him. They didn't.

Curiously, he made his way over to the window. Whatever car had skidded to a stop was gone, but shadows were darting around the street, dark blurs. Fuji rubbed his closed eyes lightly and wondered briefly if he were dreaming, with wistful curiosity. The blanket fell from around him when he heard the unmistakable crash of broken glass from next door. One of the shadows, just barely a blur, went racing down the streets while the other one was nowhere to be found.

Sometimes, Fuji's curiosity got the best of him. He was not the one to sit around and nod off while things happened. He looked upon the constant changes as something to explore and be interested in, pretty much as a child was. His interest in some things was fleeting, but if there were a curiosity that plagued his mind, Fuji would no doubt be the first one to go and follow it. Now was no exception. His lips pressed into a thin line, and then into a smile, growing wider.

All in one movement, he was throwing a coat over his pajamas, pulling on a pair of socks, and throwing on his shoes quickly. Fuji, not bothered by rules or consequences, went out the front door of his home and down the steps.

When he got out of the house, it was obvious what the sound had been.

Right at the store next door, the front window had been absolutely shattered, and the glass lay across the sidewalk, gleaming in the light from the moon and the streetlight. Lying among the luminescent pool of broken glass was a familiar face, and Fuji paused for a minute. He hadn't expected to see Tezuka again so soon, and it was surprising. He was unconscious.

Perhaps it was just the strange darkness that surrounded the man, but Tezuka seemed even paler tonight than before; it looked that his skin was bleached a pretty, satin white. The coloration wasn't normal, and Fuji paused for a moment to ponder on it. Remembering how he had almost seemed to glow in the moonlight, Fuji squinted. He remembered that picture well. The skin hadn't been as pale as it was now, but it had gleamed in the bright moonlight, and Tezuka's golden-hazel eyes had been like flames behind his glasses.

Quietly, he lowered his head, as if in regard, and then his arms were under Tezuka, doing his best to lift him.

Now, Fuji had to admit that though he was strong, it was very difficult to lift somebody who was so much bigger than him. He struggled, his feet almost failing beneath him. Then, he met no resistance from the weight that had seemed dead. Tezuka was dazed, very dazed, but still conscious enough that he was able to lift his head slightly and make a tiny effort to stand on his own. He might have collapsed back if it weren't for the arms helping him stand.

Fuji was breaking every single one of his family's rules when he helped a barely conscious Tezuka stumble through the door of his house and into his room. Fuji wondered where all the sudden weakness had come from, as Tezuka collapsed haphazardly onto the bed and closed his eyes again for just a minute, his lips parted slightly. He wasn't drunk, was he?

No. Tezuka straightened himself out slightly, but it was easy to tell that he was very out of it. Why wasn't he wounded? All around him, the glass was shattered. He even had a tiny hairline cut that extended from his ear to the bridge of his nose, crooked and swollen. However, not a lot of blood escaped. The little that was there was a dark crimson that had already dried.

There hadn't even been enough blood to get on the pavement. The storeowners next door would probably think that whomever had done such a thing was just a teenage vandal.

There was something bothering him nonetheless. Why in the world hadn't any alarms gone off? There was a sticker on the door acknowledging that they had a burglar system. Didn't that extend so far as setting the alarm off when the front window was broken? The police would be into it, he was sure, and the man lying before him might have been the answer. Right now he was acting drowsy, as if he had a concussion.

There wasn't even a bruise mauling flawless skin, no other sign of being slammed into a window other than the tiny cut above his forehead that extended deep beneath the layers of skin, but refused to bleed.

This whole ordeal was similar to the situation where six of those five hundred piece jigsaw puzzles had been mixed together, and he only had so much time to put them back together. It was frustrating and confusing, though maybe only because he disliked remaining in the dark about anything.

Fuji paused, as Tezuka shifted slightly, his eyes not open. He wasn't wearing his glasses now, but he was unmistakably Tezuka.

Had it just been from alcohol? Was Tezuka more immersed in gangs, drugs, and violence than he could have thought possible? His mother was going to throw a fit, he thought as he bent down to sniff the man's breath, pausing slightly when he found nothing to be out of the ordinary about his sense. His breath was clean; it was free from anything that would be smoked. He couldn't detect even the slightest scent of alcohol no matter how long he kept searching for it. Over his search though, he paused lightly. There was something he smelled, something that smelled very strongly of metal, just like old coins. He couldn't place his finger on it, and then it came to him, hitting him hard in the chest like a ton of lead. With the realization, Fuji felt like he was drowning. What was this supposed to mean?

Blood?

Why did Tezuka smell like blood?

Tezuka's eyes opened just barely, unaware of his surroundings, all except for Fuji. The golden eyes broke into an intense focus, and before Fuji was able to move himself, he heard the creaking sound of the mattress as Tezuka pushed himself up. The next thing he knew, he was knocked backwards so hard that the breath was stolen from his chest.

Flash one, Fuji hit the floor astoundingly hard, and a cough spluttered from his mouth just from the sheer shock. He lay there for a minute, dazed, gasping.

Flash two, he was faced with intense eyes; Tezuka was obviously not himself. He was sprawled on his back, and Tezuka loomed over him. He blinked. This was not the Tezuka he had met the other night.

Flash three, he felt a hand ghost over his throat and settle there. All too fast Tezuka's lips were on his neck, the teeth threateningly close to the skin. His vision went black for a fraction of a second, but then came back in dizzying proportions. Tezuka seemed to be hesitating against his neck. Fuji tried to say something, anything. The voice just died in his throat before he had the chance.

Tezuka's hand was no doubt unnaturally cool, pressing his throat dangerously, daring him to move his neck. The hand, with its unexplainable coolness, startled him. It was like the man had absolutely no body temperature at all, because when he touched Fuji; it was enough to make him feel like he was drowning in a pool of deep, cold water. He was startled, startled beyond belief. For a boy who had always been able to say that he was safe, having somebody be able to advance on this was a terrible shock, a little bit of humiliation, and a huge sting on the pride.

Tezuka wasn't just dangerous anymore; he threatened Fuji, and it was scary. Fuji no longer saw a challenge as much as he did a complete desire to overpower and destroy Fuji. This wasn't like him at all, was it? This wasn't who had walked him home just a week ago, reprimanding him and giving the order that he couldn't go out too far at night. Was this what he had been warning Fuji against?

Fuji had never felt such a powerful hand before, and no matter how much his instincts urged him to slam his palm against the man's nose as hard as he possibly could, his limbs refused to budge. The icy, freezing hand pressed his throat harder, stealing Fuji's breath from him, making him squirm for lack of air. Thumbs were pressing into his throat, and he gave a startled, gasping choke. "Tezuka—"

The reaction was instantaneous. The hands around his throat loosened so that he could breathe once again. The lips distanced themselves from his throat, and Tezuka, his eyes regaining an amazing amount of humanity, pushed himself off of Fuji. Fuji lay there startled before he sat up, his eyes open and glowering, looking as if he was ready to punch Tezuka right in the face for what he had done. Tezuka seemed to have already prepared himself for that in those few conscious minutes that he noticed he had advanced so far on somebody who might as well have been a complete stranger.

The Tezuka he had met just a while ago was back. The frightening Tezuka was gone. Fuji's anger was quick to dissipate, almost as quickly as had the frightening moment in which Fuji might have been able to swear that he was going to die. For a minute, Fuji had been absolutely sure that it hadn't been Tezuka in his room, but rather a crazed murderer.

"Tezuka…What was that?" Tezuka was already pushing himself up, but Fuji beat him to it, grabbing Tezuka's arms. Tezuka averted his eyes, but Fuji kept looking into them, searching for something. Overall, it was probably irritating Tezuka, but Fuji didn't care. All he wanted was the truth, and he wanted it right away. Why, if he didn't get the truth he'd… he'd… Fuji didn't really know what exactly he was planning to do in the case that Tezuka refused to explain further.

"Are you alright?" Perhaps this was the only tender gesture he was able to extend. His eyes were misty, though captivating. They were so much different than what he had seen a minute ago. Fuji's hand traveled up to trace briefly across his own throat. It still hurt badly, reminding him of the pain with the rise and fall of his chest. His back was sore from being slammed into the ground so hard. Otherwise, there was no damage aside from the fact that Fuji really, really felt like he _had_ to know why Tezuka had acted in the way he did.

"Yeah… fine, Tezuka, fine."

Tezuka wasn't concerned with his safety, obviously, but he didn't seem to want to go near Fuji again anyways, seeming not to trust his body from acting on its own accord. Fuji took a threatening step forward, demanding answers, in a way. Tezuka turned his head away.

"Were you out of your _mind?_" Fuji prodded. There was no answer from Tezuka, who only turned his head away and paid no respect to his answer aside from the nod of the head, showing he had indeed heard Fuji's words.

"What _are_ you?" The statement wasn't intentional at all, because Tezuka looked just as a human being should look. Well, aside from the fact that Tezuka's skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, but that had absolutely nothing to do with the situation. His tone injected that he was questioning Tezuka's humanity, calling him a monster. For anybody else, Fuji could have well imagined that these words, spoken in such an abrasive tone, would be hurtful. Tezuka seemed not to be bothered by them at all. In fact, it was almost as if he had been expecting Fuji to say them, that he was used to many people speaking to him in this tone.

There were still no answers.

Fuji was slowly by the minute growing more and more frustrated.

And all the while, a silence passed between them, quiet and uneasy, showing that there was nothing that could really be said between them.

It was awkward, really.

"Don't come near me again, Fuji." He turned to leave, but Fuji's hand was on his arm, grabbing him back. The alarm by his bedside table began to ring shrilly. Fuji jumped. Six thirty in the morning already? Yes… the sun was peaking through the blinds already. All at once, upon this realization Tezuka seemed all too frightened, and he looked just about ready to curse Fuji.

Why, Fuji questioned, was just a mystery; why he would be frightened of sunlight was beyond his understanding and reasonable logic. Fuji was giving him a strange look that clearly conveyed that he wasn't planning on following Tezuka's orders. The plain, small smile on his face must have told Tezuka that.

"I'm not joking, Fuji," he replied seriously, his voice hitting a low note.

"I have to get ready for school," Fuji muttered slightly, grabbing a school shirt and pants from the chest of drawers at the other corner of the room. He had ignored what Tezuka said completely, paying absolutely no regard to it. Tezuka lurked in the dark, shadowy corners of his room, keeping his eyes averted from the light. However, with the better lighting, Fuji suddenly realized how ghostly Tezuka was, looking as if he could fade of into the morning mist at any time.

"School?"

Fuji was still muttering to himself absentmindedly after switching off the ringing alarm, which had already done a number on Tezuka's ears. As if he expected that a monster would lash out from under the bed, he kept his head down and he was discreet from that point on.

"Why not school?" There was silence, and Fuji wasn't in half his mind. Forgetting there was another person in the room, he carelessly threw his shirt and pants on, pulling up black knee socks and collecting his backpack, weighted down by many heavy textbooks that resided there. As if he understood what Fuji meant, he remained silent, but nodded. Fuji didn't draw back the curtains, thinking he might send Tezuka into another episode if he did.

Fuji didn't have enough time to deal with the man, he was securing the lock on the inside of his door, and then he turned to him. If his mother found out there was a strange man in his bedroom, there was bound to be questions, but Fuji thought that he was getting an edge here. Maybe Tezuka was albino with really sensitive skin that burned easily in the sunlight or something. This gave him leverage to get the explanations he needed. If it was daylight out, Tezuka seemed to be captive to the shadows in his bedroom.

"I'll be back by late afternoon or early evening. You can stay here if you like," Fuji pointed out, lowering his voice because his ears caught footsteps outside, probably his mother busying herself in the kitchen. "Just don't leave this room. My mother won't come in if I lock the door…" He paused lightly, looking at the odd, stoic expression on Tezuka's face.

"_Just don't make any noise." _He spoke fluently in his native tongue, and Tezuka seemed to understand it all at that moment.

The door slammed deliberately behind him, and Fuji paused, still slightly dazed by his strange encounter with the man tonight. All of it was overwhelming, especially when he remembered the fact that though Tezuka appeared to have had a window shatter right around him, he was uninjured. Life was strange like that, sometimes. Fuji drew his expression into a bright smile as he went into the kitchen and gave his mother, busy at the stove with egg while the rice cooked. Giving her a peck on the cheek, he acknowledged that he was running late and needed to be at school early. She gave him a distracted farewell while she fussed half-heartedly over the state of her cooking, while she directed the rest of her attention at her eldest son

"See you, mother," he called while walking out the door. This time, he only received a distant response, but was glad to be out of the house and able to focus more on what had happened, while his fingers trance where Tezuka had gripped, wondering if the skin was bruised. If it was, it was bound to attract attention, especially from two strange girls who sat near him during the lunch hour. They made a fuss about everything, thinking somehow that any bruise or imperfection was the work of a bully.

He'd never really liked those girls very much at all, and that was before they started fawning all over him. Sometimes he liked the attention, but the girls took obsession to a new level, and if he were to discover one day that they were secretly collecting stray hairs and blood samples from him, he wouldn't be at all surprised.

Fuji attended a private school rather than public, and considering the population density in the area, it was very small with a little less than three hundred students. The school taught students between grades nine and twelve like many American high schools did, and surprisingly the school had a high influx of Asian students, many of which were Korean, Japanese, and Chinese.

"Hey, Fuji!" A voice called out to him as he began to near the school, and Fuji turned, his smile deepening, reflecting a strange sort of sadism that was just barely detectable. Fuji turned to another with light hair and light eyes, with a self-contempt smile.

"Good morning, _Atobe-sama._"

Not to be mistaken, the name he used for Atobe wasn't mainly out of respect more than a teasing thing, because whenever he heard Atobe speak Japanese, he always seemed to refer to himself very highly. Pity that they didn't have such pronouns in the English language. It wouldn't have mattered, though, anyways. To a vast majority of the students here, all that mattered was that the person was rich. Atobe had more than enough money to impress every female in school and make them swoon. It was enough to make almost every male want to be his friend. The only ones who were really immune to it were Fuji, and an outsider, a senior student from the wrong side of the tracks named James Wolfe.

"Are you ready for the test in calculus today?" By the tone of voice, Atobe was so sure that he would pass the test that he didn't even need Fuji to ask likewise.

"Yes, I suppose." Honestly, Fuji was quite good at the whole course, and passing it required almost no effort, even when his favorite subject by far was literature. As they made their way to the building, they joined the crowd of students. Upon entering the building, Atobe held to door for him, making a joke of the whole thing by grinning, bowing like a gentleman, and telling Fuji 'ladies first'.

The first half of the day passed without incidence, and with tests in many of his hardest classes, he was forced to push Tezuka and the events of that morning to the very back of his mind and first focus on the work. He was sure, though, that in psychology he forgot some essential principles posed by Freud, and he forgot two of the most important formulas in calculus, the ones that he had studied the most.

Lunchtime was always loud, and today when Fuji's eyes searched the lunchroom, there seemed to be something missing. Today, Atobe was oddly absent. Fuji shrugged it off, thinking that he was probably off with some girl, likely one from his fan club. Today, he took a seat beside James Wolfe, who was at a table alone. He, as per usual, was ignoring everything that was going on around him, immersed in a newspaper he'd most likely borrowed from the librarian.

None of the things about the boy were very good from any standpoint. He was a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, with no money to his name. His mother had run out on the family years ago to 'find a new person.' Incidentally, they'd lost contact with her. From what Fuji heard, James was the only one to support his seriously ill father. It explained why his hair was ragged, his eyes with dark smudges, and his clothes ratty and torn. A set of eyes turned on him, expectantly.

"It's good to see you, Shuusuke. Why aren't you sitting with Mr. Monkey King?" Obviously, Wolfe was picking up nicknames from one of the few friends he had here, Echizen Ryoma. Fuji paused, not resisting the opportunity to give a bright smile.

"Probably off with one of the girls of that fan club of his. Can't I sit with you?" Fuji leaned over the table quietly, pushing aside his tray. James' eyes held no look of interest except for the paper clutched tightly in his hands. Fuji leaned a little closer to the paper, seeing a picture of a dead girl on the front page. The headline, in bold, large print read **Young Woman Murdered**. Fuji's eyebrows knitted curiously.

"What are you reading about?" The paper was pushed over to him, though the boy offered no answer. He pulled the paper a little closer. 'Just last morning, the body of a young woman, confirmed to be Emily Chang, twenty years old, was found just off Main Street. The cause of death is considered to be a slash wound to the throat, though considerable violence seems to be evident. The police refuse to release any information on the autopsy at this time…'

Fuji's eyes widened, and Wolfe took the momentary shock as an advantage, stealing the newspaper back.

"Emily… Chang…"

He leaned over too look at the paper, showing a picture of the girl, the face seeming astoundingly familiar to him. Fuji knew why.

It couldn't be.


	6. Chapter Five MEMORIES

My calendar fills up fast. o.0 I already have schoolwork, band practices take forever, we'll be starting performances soon, I have a party in a few weeks, and I STILL have to practice for karate. Not to mention there's this piece of music I have to memorize by next week. That, and I've decided to write a short one-shot OC fanfiction about a girl who is pretty good at tennis, but she's on the girl's tennis club. (As my protest that girl's can be good, but they do not play on boy's clubs as a result of it. xp)

For that reason, I might not be able to post a chapter for two weeks. I won't take too long. It's just a fair warning.

But I really did work hard on this, and it took me forever to proofread this time. So I do hope that you'll enjoy it. (That, and I hope that there aren't any horrid grammar mistakes.)

Please review!

**Disclaimer: **All cannon characters in Prince of Tennis, including Tezuka and Fuji, are property of Konomi Takeshi. This fanfiction is non-profit, and I am only borrowing the characters for a while. Thank you, Konomi Takeshi!

* * *

**Chapter Five- MEMORIES**  
_-Fuji-  
The Past_

"Can I walk you home today?"

The halls were free from the usual, lively chatter, as many of the students had already gone home for the night. Fuji, though, who walked rather than taking the bus, usually stayed after for a few hours for his school club. Afterwards, he usually ended up studying in the peace of the school library for just a little while longer. Wolfe had stayed after today, too. He wasn't in a school club like some were, and rumors about what he did in his free time were rampart. For some reason he seemed to have decided that today was a good day to stay afterwards for a few hours, though. Fuji had found him in a secluded corner among the bookshelves immersed in another newspaper, with articles pertaining to similar murders panned out in front of him. Why he was taking so much interest in such a thing was beyond Fuji. Sure, the idea of there being a mass murder on the loss was intriguing, but Fuji saw no reason to devote a good few hours to it after school.

"Hm?" Fuji was looking down at his calculus textbook, with thoughts of Tezuka preoccupying his mind now that there weren't any important tests he needed to worry about. The memories were a constant veil over his mind, limiting his insight.

"I just asked you if you minded me walking you home."

"I don't mind. It's fine." Fuji's smile was false and fleeting before it went back to something neutral. His lips pulled downwards slightly. James Wolfe was always kind to him; they were friends, somewhat. So, Fuji didn't even think of it when he offered to walk home with him. Atobe did it all the time.

"Then I will," he replied casually, as they walked down the cement stairs on the outside of the school building.

For at least ten minutes, they walked in silence, as the thick air pressed down on their chests. For that time, Fuji couldn't have been sure what James was thinking of, but he knew that for now, his own thoughts weren't going to turn from Tezuka. The strange dream, Tezuka's behavior, and the man's avoidance of the sun… There were far too many things that weren't, as of now, something that he was able to understand.

"Something's bothering you," he observed a minute later, perhaps posing the suspicion that he had only been keeping the silence in order to better analyze Fuji's mood. Eyes fluttering skyward, with his eyelashes touching his cheeks lightly, he exhaled. It was a beautiful day out, really. There was probably no more than an hour of daylight left, even though the sky was already turning pink on the horizon, slightly. Sunsets were always quite nice around here, even in the city, though Fuji liked it far more on the solitude of the beach.

"Perhaps," Fuji's tone was gentle and wistful, carried only by the wind. At the slight breeze, James turned, as if he wanted to say something but thought that Fuji would be angry if he did. A lot of what James Wolfe was saying pried at thoughts that didn't want to come out, quite. Fuji disliked it when people pried at things that weren't their own business. He found it irritating.

There was a sudden, freezing breeze that made James stumble, while Fuji stayed balanced on his feet as a shiver ran down his spine. It had been such a temperate day until that point, until that breeze that sent shivers through his very being. Wolfe was looking at him again, and Fuji tilted his head to the side, inclining a question.

"Perhaps?" He heard repeated a minute later. Obviously, Wolfe wasn't buying his words, but they were to his house already, and Fuji was all too eager to get inside and out of the cold that he almost forgot that he should have been hospitable.

"Was there a reason why you wanted to walk me home?" He asked suddenly, far too sharply, especially considering that he was not the sort of person to be curt, rather the type who darted around the subject insinuating things and making everything confusing.

Sure, he hadn't thought of it much before, but now it seemed strange. It always seemed to be the other boy's priority to get home, not to make conversation and walk people home. It was all too strange. Wolfe paused for a moment at the question, then answered truthfully.

"Today when you saw that paper, your reaction was strange. I needed to know why that was," His answer didn't seem to shock Fuji at all, in the slightest. It might have even been possible that Fuji had been anticipating what James would eventually say.

His eyes drifted shut again, hiding the dark, cerulean eyes. Wolfe's tired eyes blinked back at them. He looked as if he was going to fall asleep right where he stood, as if he spent much of his night awake and active. Wolfe was all too tired to be normal. He was tired all the time.

"_Déjà vu," _Fuji commented silkily before turning to open the front door.

"Would you like to come in?" Fuji's reply seemed to have startled the boy so much that he was unable to respond, and there was at least a five good minutes before he even opened his mouth to answer. Fuji waited, expectantly, looking at him in a strange manner. Still, he didn't seem to be able to will the words out of his mouth.

"R-really," There was a pause leaving the air open for the sanctity of the sound of the crickets chirping. James took a gulp, as if he was suddenly very nervous, and in a hurry as well.

He suddenly answered, just when he thought that he was going to run off into the setting sun.

"Well… Thank you for telling me. If that's the case… I'll go, then…" Fuji arched an eyebrow as James slowly backed off, as he expected Fuji to explode at any moment. Really, Fuji was not a time bomb. Fuji didn't have a temper that could go off at any moment. Yet somehow, he was being treated like that. It was intriguing, to say the least, and perhaps a little confusing.

The only thing he got was the inclination of the head and an arched eyebrow from the light-haired Japanese. His mouth seemed to have gone dry, and then he suddenly, unexpectedly turned and ran. Fuji was left standing at his own doorstep, confused. James Wolfe had always been strange, but Fuji never had thought that a student, somebody who was in many of his classes, could be that outlandish. It made him think twice about why exactly the boy was so tired everyday.

His eyes blinked openly for a moment, his eyes appearing darkened and hazy. In light of the setting sun, he lowered his gaze and entered the house.

"Shuusuke, you're home! How was your day?" His mother's voice drifted from the living room, and Fuji went to it.

"Everything was well, mother. How was your day?" Perhaps, he was lying about his trouble completing his exams. He didn't want to worry his mother, though, and considering that she expected him to do well in school, the reaction would not go well.

He found his mother was sitting on the couch looking through some recipes in a woman's magazine, tearing out the ones that she found interesting. However, her kind gaze flickered up to him.

"You know how your father was going to be in town tonight?" She gave him a chance to nod; of course, she'd been talking about it for almost a month now. How could she have possibly let him forget such a thing? After some important meetings in Europe, he managed to clear time to visit his family for three weeks before going back overseas for some more important company affairs.

"Well, he's said that he'll take me out to dinner. You don't mind being alone for the evening do you, sweetie? I have to leave in about ten minutes, so I hope that you don't mind it." She paused for a minute, and then added a promise. "We can have dinner as a family tomorrow, okay?"

She looked excited, and it was understandable. His father was a traveling businessman, and it was probably a treat that he was taking is wife out to dinner. Fuji just smiled and would pretend he had no problem with it. In truth, it dispelled a lot of problems. He still had to get Tezuka, who was probably still in his bedroom, out of the house, and it wouldn't be good risking it if his mother was here. She would be furious.

"Of course not. Go have fun." She broke into a wide smile and stood up to look at her son, placing her magazine on the table and nodding to him. She probably could have cancelled it, and judging by her reaction, she expected that he would have said no to her. Fuji wouldn't have; she was his mother, and she deserved some happiness. Partially, he disliked his father for leaving her alone for so long, but if she were happy having dinner with him, then she wouldn't have him holding her back. Not unless, Fuji thought with gritted teeth, he did something despicable to her.

As much as this man was his father, he would have never had mercy if he ever were to hurt any one of his family members.

She loved him, after all, and love could be a destructive force.

"I'll go get ready, then! Shuusuke, I left you some food that I cooked in the refrigerator. Heat it up in the microwave. You should like it; it's one of your favorites." She buzzed off to her bedroom to apply makeup and dress in something more appropriate. She had a significantly happier presence now, though Fuji to himself, feeling rather accomplished as he located the food she had put into the refrigerator. It was a significantly large portion, enough to feed four. His eyes paused over the food. He never ate really large portions. She's probably just left him with a lot because she would feel guilty if he was still hungry and had nothing to eat.

It would be nice to give Tezuka some food. After all, he hadn't eaten since that morning, at the very earliest. It could have been later, too. After hours of sitting in his room without food, Tezuka was probably starving. Hesitating, he spooned enough for three portions onto a plate and placed it in the microwave, assuming that Tezuka might eat a lot if he was really hungry. He set the time and started the microwave, and after he heard the beep and the sound as it started heating the food, set for sixteen minutes, he went to his room to check on Tezuka.

The door was still locked, obviously, and he withdrew a hairpin from behind his ear, placed in a spot where it wasn't even noticeable among light-colored locks, and began to pick the lock expertly, turning the knob upon hearing the soft click. His room was surprisingly empty. There were no disturbances; the window hadn't been opened, nothing had been moved. Heck, even his bed sheets were in the same place as they had been that morning. There was a distinct lack of something, though. Tezuka was nowhere in sight.

And thus, he began the thorough search of his room, first checking under the bed, where Tezuka might have been able to wedge himself, and then in a few hidden corners. It wasn't until Fuji made his was to the closet that he found Tezuka. He actually jumped when he did, for he didn't expect to find the man, there.

"Shuusuke, I'm leaving now, I'll see you in a few hours!" Fuji paused lightly and stepped outside his room for a minute.

"Have fun!"

"Thank you! I'll see you in a few hours!" There was the audible sound of the door being closed, and Fuji made his way back to his room, to the spot where Tezuka was. The sun was just barely peaking over the horizon now, and it would be dark soon, Fuji thought to himself as he looked at the soundly sleeping Tezuka. He didn't seem to be breathing, but he didn't seem to be dead, either. Nestled in the darkest corner of the closet, Tezuka sat there with his arms folded and his knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes were closed.

"Tezuka," He shifted over to him, kneeling and giving Tezuka's shoulder a firm shake, and then another when Tezuka didn't even shift slightly. There was no response. _"Tezuka-san!"_ Not even the louder, slightly coy voice woke him, but Fuji, calm as ever, simply went to get the dinner from the microwave and dish it on to two plates. Outside, the crickets were chirping peacefully. Fuji closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his kind smile not failing. He went back to his room with the plates of food and promptly went to Tezuka, setting the plate with the larger portion next to him.

As he was about to stand up and go retrieve his schoolbooks to do his homework, he saw a brief flash of hazel. Tezuka opened his mouth as if to yawn slightly, revealing gleaming white teeth. They were, perhaps, a little sharper than a normal human's teeth was, but Fuji paid no mind to it.

"Ah, you're awake." Tezuka was blinking for a moment, and he ran a hand past his forehead, as if he had a headache. It seemed that for a moment, he wasn't able to remember properly why exactly he was nestled in the dark closet of a teenaged boy's room. The slight confusion didn't even crease his features, though. All of the features were refined and smooth, tracing excellently into one of another. Tezuka's usually stoic expression had only the slightest disturbance, which was probably annoyance at waking up in an unfamiliar place.

"You kept me here." The response held nothing of interest or intent. It was blunt, to the point. "I should leave now." Fuji's eyes squinted, and he grabbed Tezuka's elbow when he made a move to exit the room.

"Tezuka, you should eat first." His voice was tricky and clever sounding, though trying to be coy so as to attract the man. Tezuka looked unperturbed, and simply brushed his hand away.

"No." His answer was so plain and so mindful, that if Fuji didn't have half the mind he did, he would have let Tezuka go. Pausing lightly for a moment, he shook his head firmly, with the stubborn smile still affixed to his features. Fuji went to pick up the plate and pushed it at Tezuka once, giving him a look that might have made anybody else squirm.

"Don't be so picky; my mother's food is good."

"Picky?" For a moment, the sentence sounded touchy, as if Fuji had said something wrong. Hesitantly, Fuji, once again, offered it to him, smiling clearly and plainly. He nudged the plate a little at Tezuka, and though the man finally took it, he didn't take one look at the food, much less, he didn't seem interested in the scent it was giving off. Fuji's mother was a good cook; nobody really resisted her food. It always smelled great, even reheated in the microwave. Yet… Here Tezuka was, rejecting the food clearly and plainly. Why was that?

"Tezuka, it is the least I can offer you," His voice alluded easily to the night the previous week, but Tezuka seemed to avoid it, as if he hadn't considered such a thing to be a favor at all. Sighing, Tezuka took the plate and held it shakily in his hands while he made his way over to the bed, limping slightly. Fuji hadn't noticed it before, that morning. The way he walked now was listless, and completely different from the graceful, effortless step that Fuji had seen a week ago. It was like all the energy had been drained out of him, and his ability to move was just as compromised as his ability to display any signs of having body heat. In fact, he seemed colder than Fuji remembered, when their hands had brushed briefly a week ago.

He was holding the plate rather closely, and his nose must've caught the scent, but he looked down at the food as if it bored him, as if it was something that was beyond what cold be considered food, like a piece of cardboard. Fuji's brow furrowed. The scent might have been a bother to Tezuka, but nothing else. His interest was either so small that even Fuji wasn't able to detect it, or there really was none at all. It was strange. Tezuka wasn't bone skinny, but he could do with putting on some weight, anyways, yet he showed no interest in food. Maybe he was one of those people who never had an appetite, even when they looked like they were half-starved to death.

Once, Tezuka took the fork and raised it to his mouth for just a moment, but put it back ground.

"You're very kind, but I'm not hungry." He pushed the plate back over to Fuji.

"Perhaps it would be better if _you _ate something for now." Tezuka's suggestion might have just been because he wanted to avoid the situation. Fuji didn't respond by taking the plate that was offered to him. He just paused lightly and challenged Tezuka with his gaze, daring him to eat some food. Tezuka remained stubborn and uninterested in the food, because it just didn't seem to appeal to him. Fuji wanted to point out that Tezuka probably hadn't eaten in at least the last twelve hours.

"Fine, I guess. But I'm not hungry, either." Fuji set the plate aside, seeing no further need to argue. Tezuka obviously wasn't going to touch the food, and he figured that there was no further sense in pushing it. Tezuka could be a little of a frustrating person sometimes, with that rock-hard personality. At least, that's what Fuji assumed.

"I shouldn't impede on you hospitality any longer," Tezuka mentioned in silence, testing the weight of the air on his tongue. Fuji shook his head, shrugging.

"No, I'm alone tonight. Mother and father went out to dinner, so I've still got a few hours alone. Won't you keep me company, Tezuka?" Tezuka seemed to think it odd that Fuji was treating his companionship as enjoyable, and probably thought that they shouldn't have been anything more than strangers who were courteous with each other. Fuji, on the other hand, still wanted answers, partially, and wanted to figure out Tezuka's motives before he let him go, completely. The silence between them was companionable and Tezuka seemed to appreciate it for at least a few minutes.

"You don't have any… siblings? Friends?" _I can't be your only company, can I? You aren't that alone._

"Yuuta entered boarding school a while ago, and Yumiko is living with her husband. My father always travels, so when he's actually around us he likes to take my mother out on a date of sorts."

_No friends?_

Fuji blinked and looked at Tezuka long and hard, as if to scan the thoughts like the pages of the phonebook, trying to find the right answer. The emotions and general ideas were like a radio station that was out of tune. They were garbled and almost to the point of being beyond recognition. . Fuji looked at Tezuka's eyes again.

_No Friends?_

Tezuka seemed like a person of few words, who didn't express his emotions adequately. However, looking deeper into his eyes and focusing a little helped it. There _was_ something beyond it. Fuji just couldn't see it. Taking a wild guess, he answered.

"Of course I have friends, but they're all busy tonight."

Tezuka's expression was that of mild unrest, though it wasn't anything that could have been considered major.

"Won't you keep me company?"

Tezuka, this time, seemed to think harder about it. His eyes flashed something for a minute, something that wasn't comprehensible. He seemed to be thinking about it, though, weighing the consequences. The way Tezuka spoke of it, the man was a time bomb that was just waiting to go off, and Fuji was in danger standing too close. However, now that he moved his legs and was able to sense the weakness in them, he hesitated. Such weakness seemed to be something utterly defiant, and conclusive, dangerous. All of this, when Fuji assumed with food and a little rest, he would be as normal as ever. Tezuka didn't seem to think this way. Tezuka glanced at the clock.

"A half an hour." He paused again. "Then, I have a favor to ask of you."

The first thing he really learned about Tezuka Kunimitsu was that nothing came easy, neither answers nor conversation. The second thing that he learned was that Tezuka was curt and succinct, but upon further inspection of what he said, a lot of the words he spoke were easily questionable, and at times had a potentially different meaning.

Fuji was allowed to turn on the lamp by his bedside, countering the darkness. The light cast a dim glow across the room, but Tezuka once again occupied some of the more shadowy parts of the room, lurking as a stalker might. Except… nothing about Tezuka was similar to a stalker. He didn't eyeball anybody in such a manner, and besides, he wasn't creepy in that manner.

Fuji drew open the window, pushing up on the heavy glass, and was greeted by a strong gust of cool night air. The room was soon filled with fresh air, but the temperature dropped considerably. Fuji, who was wearing a sweatshirt and pants, didn't mind. Tezuka, strangely enough, clad in a short-sleeved shirt and pants did not shiver. His pallid skin just glowed in the little moonlight that filtered into the room.

In the distance, a dog barked, and a car skidded to a halt.

There were no words in the bedroom, though. Fuji learned another thing about Tezuka; nothing pertaining to the man was ever quite as simple as it seemed. Absentmindedly, he wondered what sort of favor Tezuka wanted to ask of him. Sketching in a graph for his calculus homework, he watched Tezuka out of the corner of the wall. He was staring out the window with his eyes closed, as if he was meditating.

His thoughts, though, weren't on how Tezuka was standing by the window with his eyes closed, or even his math homework. No, it was more on everything else that had happened that day. The morning started in a myriad of color, as he found Tezuka lying unconscious outside the shop next door, surrounded by broken glass.

"Tezuka," he started a minute later. The man made now move other than a nod to acknowledge him. The was no sound from him, just nothing… Fuji took it as a signal that he was allowed to go ahead with what he planned to say.

"I was wondering what you would think of this strange dream I had," He paused for a minute, closing his eyes as faint wisps of it came back to him. He grasped the small pale strings of it and soon found the memory of the dream, completely intact, oddly. "Anyways, last night, before I found you, I had this dream… of a girl who was dead. Emily Chang, her name was. Chinese-American. Twenty years old. Today… she was in the paper. Murdered."

At the exact moment that Fuji didn't look at Tezuka, the man's hazel eyes shot wide open, flickering for a minute, before turning to Fuji in disbelief. In a second, by the time Fuji had finally looked back at Tezuka, the man was calm again, and he was showing absolutely no signs of having received the greatest shock in as long as he could remember.

"Do you know if… people can foresee things in their dreams, like déjà vu?" He paused and opened his eyes, giving Tezuka a cool, hard look. The look was enough to make anybody except Tezuka squirm slightly, but even with that, it was enough to pin the other against the opposite wall, until Fuji closed his eyes again and turned to the other side of the room, at the wall.

"No. There's no such thing."

His result was plain and simple, yet part of it seemed like it was a lie, even to Tezuka.

There was something strange going one, but Fuji wanted to dismiss it, because it was frightening.

_Really?_

Fuji paused for a minute and smiled. The words had not been desirable, but it had been an answer nonetheless, and he was proud to have received it, like it was a sort of accomplishment. Something told him that Tezuka rarely talked to many people, much less gave into their demands so much as giving answers out like that. It made him feel good, like he'd gotten something that he'd been wanting for a long time.

Fuji couldn't remember such a feeling.

"Well, what was that favor that you wanted from me? It's been thirty minutes, now." Fuji didn't usually like doing favors, but he guessed that he would try and make an exception for Tezuka. Otherwise, the results were very tiring. It was an eye for an eye. Fuji needed to give something in order to get something in return from Tezuka. He couldn't really trick Tezuka into doing something that he wanted like he was able to most other people.

"I need you to accompany me somewhere." He admitted, almost seeming ashamed about it, for it was difficult walking on his own. His voice told Fuji that it was of utmost importance, though, so Fuji finally decided that he would comply. Tezuka, though, obviously wasn't planning on even asking if Fuji wanted to come with him. He was already making the effort to stand weakly, though on his own. At this moment, it was beyond Fuji why Tezuka had refused food. It had been a generous offer that he proposed.

"_What?" _Tezuka was being rather vague, after all. The man, taking a large amount of effort to stand on his own, wobbled slightly in the attempt. How long had it been since Tezuka had a good meal, much less a recuperative he was a rather strong looking man, but the way he carried himself showed weakness and fatigue.

"You said that your parents would be gone for a few hours." His statement was plain, obvious. "Help me. We can take a bus to the west side of the city."

Fuji paused. "How far do you want me to go?"

"Not far…" It seemed that he failed to specify anything more. That, or he just didn't want to. Tezuka made no other move to explain what he needed, though Fuji could easily take that it was implied the reason that he wanted Fuji to come with him was because he was far too weak to make it all the way on his own, without any sort of help.

"Fine, I'll go with you." Tezuka was standing, but with little strength. "Come on, there's a bus we can catch in ten minutes if we hurry."

Fuji found himself only minutes later, sitting at the far back of an empty bus, right next to Tezuka as the bus rumbled on the assumed twenty-minute trip to the west side of the city, where Tezuka claimed that he needed to get off. Tezuka sat there with a stiff back, and though he was next to him, he made no move to associate himself with Fuji. Rather, he stared right out the window into the blurred twilight, trying to keep his eyes away from the dim lights on the bus. Fuji realized the strange way that Tezuka's eyes were dilated; it would have been dizzying to look in the light. Once, he did look back at Fuji, and he almost swayed when he looked into the light. Again, his eyes were out the window.

They were let off the bus in a rather scummy part of town, a place that might have been considered to be a bad neighborhood, and certainly somewhere that his mother would have not liked him to venture. Fuji was beginning to consider that his original idea that Tezuka had been the leader of a gang when he had first met the man might have been right. He didn't really have a chance to debate, though.

"Help me walk." Fuji found himself supporting half of Tezuka's weight while Tezuka used the remainder of the little strength he had to manage to support the rest of his body. Fuji looked clueless. He had no idea where to go. However, Tezuka would need his help. Whenever they got to where they needed to be, there had better have been people. Fuji didn't have a cell phone or anything. If Tezuka collapsed, there would be no way to call an ambulance.

Besides, he didn't even know _where _he was. The entire place was very unfamiliar.

And creepy, though Fuji had far too much pride to admit such a thing willingly. To take his thoughts off of the matter, he imagined how Atobe would hold his head high and turn his nose up at the scum, stating that such a place was not fit for his presence. Fuji, at that, snickered under his breath at the thought of Atobe's expression. Tezuka's gaze was on him, as if to ask what was so amusing.

"It's nothing," Fuji said, bemusedly.

"Tezuka, where are we going?"

Fuji briefly wondered if Tezuka had any place in mind, before Tezuka raised a finger, the path pointing over to an old, run down house many stories tall. Anna would have gawked at it, then hidden promptly behind his leg, clinging to him and whimpering about how it was haunted. Fuji, of course, knew better. He did have to admit that it looked the stereotypical house that, in movies, was infested with ghosts and other sorts of monsters that liked to torture the occasional passerby who was unwary. It looked unlike anything he said and wouldn't have been somewhere many people would have ventured.

Fuji had to admit… it was out of place here, and it was certainly more foreboding than the surrounding area. That, and if ghosts were real, this would be the first place to find them, in an ancient and abandoned house that probably had cobwebs in any space imaginable, and was so structurally unstable that one could fall through the floor at any moment. He helped Tezuka limp over to the iron, rusty-looking gate.

A crow screeched and flew overhead, from one of the trees in the front lawn.

It might have been a beautiful house about fifty years ago, when it still appeared as somewhere that wasn't abandoned. However, now it looked uninhabited. The gate creaked when Fuji pushed on it lightly with his free hand, but it wasn't locked, which was good, he supposed. Even in the night, the house seemed to cast a shadow, and it loomed overhead like a formidable opponent as Fuji helped Tezuka limp across the driveway towards the house.

Between the cracks of the driveway grew weeds, and the path leading to the front door was almost consumed by slick, wet grass with weeds growing interspersed among the dark green blades. The rest of the lawn was in a wild state. The grass couldn't have been mowed for a very long time and might have even come up to Fuji's knees. It grew wild like a swamp, alongside unkempt bushes that grew past the windows on the first story. A vine was taking over the other side of the house, stretching all the way from bottom to top. He was even sure that he saw a pond glistening in the moonlight somewhere along the overgrown yard, though its water was murky and filled with algae.

The front porch creaked dangerously when they stepped onto it, and Fuji wondered if Tezuka really lived here or not. The house was so out of place, though; as was the fact that Tezuka seemed to glow whenever the moonlight caught his skin, the two might have gone well together. Was that suiting, or just eerie? A thought came into Fuji's head so quickly, and it was something that was quite outrageous. It reminded him of a movie, though… of something that had happened in an American movie. Japanese legends. European legends. Novels. Stories. Nightmares. Dreams. Everything.

Really, it hit him like a ton of lead, and it seemed rather obvious when he thought about it…

No. Fuji shook his head mentally. He wouldn't be like some silly girl and believe in a mythical creature like he was scared, or fascinated. He was just being stupid.

Tezuka was undeniably handsome, though, he had to admit. He could have even been called beautiful, with his glowing, pale skin and fierce hazel eyes.

However, Fuji never believed in such things He liked to think that everything around him had something in it that could be explained by him, no matter what. Fuji didn't like people who were not easy too guess. Tezuka was already enough of a frustrating person, without being suspected of being some strange creature that had been feared and hunted in many villages in the past.

Tezuka was looking at him strangely again.

"Go home now," he stated simply. "Thank you," such a thing might have only been stated to ward Fuji off, to join Tezuka's numerous other warnings. His brain swam and was filled with images of American movies again, books, Japanese legends, everything. Tezuka's golden-hazel eyes blinked as if in confusion, as if after his last words, Fuji was supposed to be obedient and go home. However, though Fuji felt like he could still consider Tezuka at least partially normal, there was still one thing bothering him.

Tezuka was so obviously weakened, and Fuji had assumed it was from lack of food. However, he had blatantly refused it, which made Fuji wonder. Was he sick, or was it something more? He hadn't moved still, and Tezuka stated his sentence again. "Go home." His voice told Fuji that he wouldn't want to worry his parents, or get into any sort of trouble, but the words passed Fuji's ears this time like foreign words, because he wasn't focusing on Tezuka's words so much as his _thoughts_ and it was bringing him into a trace.

Strange, wasn't it?

The headline from the newspaper James had shown him that morning passed across his gaze. Fuji felt the sickening feeling of being so dizzy that he couldn't stand anymore. He felt like he was going to vomit. That, or he was going to faint really soon. Where the sudden wave of nausea came from, he didn't know, but Tezuka must've seen it coming before he fell, because at the very moment that his legs would have given out, he felt a cool arm loop around his waist to steady him, and a rough hand placed rather tenderly under his chin.

He had to admit, that in any other situation, with any other person, this would've been extremely awkward. Fuji didn't dislike physical contact or having others touch him, but this was a little to much contact, especially considering it was another man touching him, and not a girl. There was no sort of emotion towards Fuji in those eyes, but at the same time he was taken by them, captured absolutely and completely; he hadn't felt like that before. Fuji didn't know what it was that he found intriguing. There wasn't anything particularly intriguing or unusual about his eyes, except for the fact they burned brightly, even when they were stern looking. However, touching Fuji like that seemed to have changed his way of thinking a little bit, and the stern features had only softened slightly; he looked confused, mainly.

A soft, gentle set of lips touched his neck in what could have been a kiss, but Fuji didn't tense. Tezuka wasn't really himself anymore, something told him, but being so close, so close that it was intoxicating, interfered with his better judgment. His body felt hot and unresponsive, and all he could do was stand there. A tongue traced under the line of his jaw, and Fuji purposely repressed a shiver and a gasp. What was Tezuka going to do? He couldn't be sure at all, anymore. He trembled lightly when the pair of lips that had kissed his skin so softly paused hesitantly over where his racing pulse could be found. He wanted to shove Tezuka away, yet at the same time, he really didn't want it to end.

All too suddenly, it was over. Tezuka released him so suddenly that he fell backward on to the porch. Before he even had time to catch his breath, the front door of the house had slammed, and there was an audible click of the lock. Fuji hesitated, and then stood.

When he finally made it out of the unkempt, overgrown yard, he only cast one look back at the old house before taking the long way home, on foot.


	7. Chapter Six DREAMS

This took me a little bit longer to finish than I'd initially planned, and though I know that you probably will think this chapter just goes on and on, I do hope that you'll like it. My tendency to ramble probably makes this boring.

I'm trying my very, very best to make this not seem OOC, but things are going out of my control and I want to bash my head on the desk, because Tezuka is out of character, and Fuji's slightly out of character, and it's killing me.

If you have any complaints at all about this, I'd love to hear them. I'd like to hear what you didn't like about it so I can fix it. Other than the pairing and the basic concept of the story, I'm willing to change anything about it if you give me something to do that you'll think make it better.

I appreciate all reviews, especially constructive criticism. Please, I'm just an author who has nothing better to do; I LOVE reviews. If you read, review. I'd love it so, so much.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Tezuka or Fuji or anyone else. They all belong to Konomi Takeshi.

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**Chapter Six- DREAMS**

_-Tezuka-_

_The past_

_Cold._

Tezuka was oh so dimly aware of something cold and wet hitting his cheek. Calm, yet disoriented hazel eyes flickered open and closed slowly. His lips parted for a moment, just slightly; they met wetness. Cool, endless drops of water hit his face, sliding down the skin and hitting the ground with a soft 'plip'. This was not the sound of just a calm rainstorm, though.

Thunder echoed in his ears, and he shuddered. Sometimes having such accurate senses didn't help. Sometimes, he did not want to hear the soft whispers across rooms, or the racing heartbeat of a frightened young child as he desperately searched for his mother.

Sometimes, it really hurt his ears to hear the louder noises. Thunder sounded more like a cannon.

Mostly, though, the downsides of these senses were his ability to smell blood very acutely.

Tezuka was able to think himself as mad whenever he smelled human blood. His senses were sent reeling. He could no longer breathe, for his whole stomach was conquered by a hunger that couldn't even be described, something that hadn't been satisfied, for Tezuka, in years. He would shiver slightly. A strange feeling passed through his stomach, the impulse to grab and bite. Tezuka wasn't inexperienced with it, nor was he unfamiliar with the feeling of a human body squirming in his grip that couldn't be human as he proceeded to drain their life, their vitality.

This thirst never let him out of its steely grasp. One night, it would be satisfied. Tezuka would lick the dried blood from his lips, and then give the corpse one last look. Always, it was the same. The corpse lay stiff from his all too rough touch, the eyes affixed in an expression of pure terror. The next night, his stomach would churn again, and he'd have to go searching for new prey.

What he chose over this was never quite the same. There was never the satisfying feeling of being able to sink his teeth into something human. Animal blood, which he was able to get in large supplies from different sources, kept him going. However, it lacked the sweetness that indicated humanity. It was cold. Unlike the warm human blood, it did not set his body alight with the only sort of excitement that he couldn't resist; it was a rabid, animal-like feeling of warmth that spread from his toes to his fingertips. If there was one thing Tezuka wanted, so deeply that only darkest and quietest parts of his heart knew such a thing. The other parts of him remained ignorant to it; he ignored it so much that he forgot. Yet somehow, the longing was still there. Drinking human blood was the only time he was really able to feel closer to being human, closer to being alive.

Almost every night now, for almost sixty years, his stomach felt cold and empty. Sixty years ago, he decided that he would break the habit of drinking human blood. It had taken him almost ten years to finally live up to that promise. Fifty years he had gone without a single drop human blood, and the strain was beginning to show. As a leader, he was strict in enforcing such a rule. The lone group that chose to follow him was ordered to live his lifestyle. They could no longer live off human blood.

Part of Tezuka sometimes wondered why he'd given up drinking human blood. However, that part knew, and remembered that each time he killed, he would look upon the corpse, and for just a fraction of a second, and the only human part that was left in him recoiled in disgust. He would tremble form a minute at the mixture of feelings pouring over his soul, that of absolute, immense thirst, and that of a human caring that had been almost completely demolished by his inhumanity.

The corpse, for the briefest second, made him shudder, and there was a small child in him that blinked softly, wide eye concealed by glasses that glinted sadly in the moonlight. There wasn't much child left in Tezuka at all. He would slowly, ever so slowly ponder it. The child would seems so tangible that it tugged on his sleeves and pleaded with him to stop, that this was wrong.

Yet this wrong, this life of horrible deeds, had become the only way he knew.

_The first time he had seen a vampire kill, he was not the victim, and he was not a vampire. In fact, it was years before such an unfortunate fate would befall him. He was just ten years old, wandering in the dirty streets of the cities all too late at night. It had been a lovely woman, a real gem. Perhaps it was that she was a prostitute, and that could be assumed from the way she dressed; young Tezuka wouldn't have known. He didn't know about such things at such an age._

_The darkness was pressing on his lungs tonight, and he hid behind the brick wall. The man who he saw coming down the street was tall, handsome as ever. Even at such an age, the ethereal beauty captured Tezuka's attention. The boy with glasses found his breath held as he watched the man skulk in the alleyway a ways up. His dark hair swept his eyes. He was a tall, slim man with well-angled features and glowing eyes. _

_Foolish… She had, indeed, been foolish. He caught her lightly by the wrist and asked her what she was doing in the alleyway so late at night. His lips curved into a gentle, seductive smile. She, being a woman who had probably seen a lot of men in her lifetime, still seemed extremely captivated by his eyes. He whispered some sweet words into her ear, his breath tickling her face gently, and tugged at her arm convincingly. Her eyes were hooked on his, as if they were really more of an addiction than anything. He kissed her hand, showing his teeth when he smiled, and then slowly brushed his lips with her. _

_Perhaps she was about to give a small cry, when he grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head, pushing her against the side of the building. All too forcibly he was holding onto her tightly, kissing her neck softly while she moaned under his tempting touch. _

_The moan turned to a cry of pain. _

_Now she struggled, but he held her firmly and didn't allow her to move. Slowly, the struggles became more and more futile, weaker. The man drew back later, what seemed like forever to Tezuka. His lips were smeared crimson, and his cheeks had a far more human tint to them, flushed pink. Tezuka had only been a small boy, and having witnessed a woman die, he could no longer stand. He fell out from where he held, right in the line of vision in the man. Unlike the woman, though, he didn't find himself being kissed, or pinned up against a wall. The man's lips curved, anyways. _

"_What's a little boy like you doing out here so late at night. Go home, now. You wouldn't want to get into… trouble." His fingers brushed young Tezuka's cheek, and a hand on his wrist was what pulled him to his feet. Tezuka's glasses were slightly askew. He looked silently up at the man, who still had blood smeared across his lips. Tezuka didn't speak, but his lips were parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something. Rather than make any noise he just had his head turned up towards the tall man, his eyes blank and expressionless. _

"_Go on, now." The man's hand ruffled Tezuka's already messy hair, and then gave his shoulder a rough pat. With those last words and actions, the man disappeared into the night mist. _

Now… Now, years and years after he had first witnessed that scene, many had fallen victim. They had fallen victim to him. Tezuka was no better than a mass murderer. Numerous had fallen victim to him, and nobody ever survived, no, not once he made the decision.

Tezuka's eyes caught misty moonlight that fluttered down to the alleyway, and he snapped back from his thoughts. Tonight was a lot like the conditions had been that night. It began to rain, and the water slid easily across the smooth curves of his cheekbones. All he was able to recall was extreme pain, and the fact that he was unable to lift his head more than a few centimeters before it smacked painfully down again.

His stomach churned again.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, one who had usually been cautious about the sort of thing, was now finding him more and more cornered by this bloodlust of his. It took over every one of his senses, ensnaring his mind and pushing him into a dream-like state. Tezuka didn't like that. Tezuka's character embodied the ideas that he was always able to take care of himself and control things. Tezuka's values did not instate that losing control was anything that could be acceptably lost.

Tezuka, before losing his humanity, would never have thought of killing.

If he lost it, there would be nothing left. Here, it was slightly difficult. Tezuka was stoic in all other departments, but he thrived off of blood, and as such if he was deprived of something necessary for sustenance, it would become more and more difficult for him to keep himself level whenever he walked past a human being.

That especially included a certain Fuji Shuusuke.

Tezuka wanted anything but to be near him.

He supposed that maybe he would have found Fuji's company entertaining if he were human. However, he was obviously not that anymore, and it was difficult.

Fuji could be considered to be beautiful by many people. Tezuka, though, might not have recognized that at first.

Fuji's light colored hair framed his face well, and Fuji's eyes were thrilling to see.

However, whenever he was near Fuji, it seemed to be when he was hungry, and he was particularly interesting. Tezuka was able to acutely hear the heartbeat that was strong under his chest. It was never faltering, and showed that Fuji was nowhere near as weak as he seemed to look.

There was something about Fuji's blood that made the sweet, intoxicating scent permeate off the skin like perfume. It was like having food put straight under his nose when he was on the verge of starvation, but still expected the urge to eat the food. Not everything, of course, but for some strange reason, it seemed that many were already attracted to the idea of being the one to take his blood. Tezuka might have been in denial. He hadn't yet acknowledged to himself that even after years of keeping from human blood, he longed for it. Even uninjured, the sweet scent of Fuji's blood made way temptingly to Tezuka's nose. Sometimes it was far to tempting, and Tezuka suddenly would tackle Fuji backwards. That had happened twice now, and twice was quite enough for him. Fuji was an object of temptation.

So, of course, he decided that he would remove himself from the temptation.

It had been easy enough the first time. He'd removed himself, leaving Fuji and a small girl on the doorstep of an apartment. Fuji had followed him, and the second time he felt some strain when he walked away, after their fingers had twined so gently. Their fingers had twined once, sending electricity up Tezuka's nerves for the first time in what seemed like too long.

Fuji had been _warm._

Tezuka had almost let himself forget how warm humans were. The little touch was enough to bring the memories back with stunning accuracy. All at once, it had hurt his head. He still kept it inside, though. He never showed how surprised he had been, or how suddenly he'd been shaken by the overpowering desire to squeeze that hand tighter. Dark motives had clouded his eyes, and finally he managed to tear himself away from it. Those three seconds in which their fingers had been touching, though, had seemed like the longest three seconds that Tezuka had ever experienced.

The third time had not been very easy at all. He, who had battled for a good few days with the idea of going back to secretly keep an eye on the interesting human, had only just forgotten about the idea of ever seeing the soft-lined face before he was dropped right outside the boy's doorstep by mere coincidence.

The life of a vampire was not easy.

For those who chose to drink human blood, they had to escape clutches of hunters. For those who vowed to only drink animal blood, they were in constant battle with instinct and will. Tezuka wasn't exempt. His tight-knit personality was there to hide it, and to prevent him from leaping out at a human whenever he saw one alone. Tezuka had the strains of both, his conscience prevented him from killing nightly, but since his introduction the nocturnal world of vampires, he'd had a line of hunters after him. That wasn't about to change.

He never would have though he'd be doing this, really. Even if he were told that such a fate would eventually befall him, he would disagree about the trouble he had. He would point out that he would be able to control himself easily and go how forever long he fancied without human blood.

Such a thing was easier said than done.

For just a week into the new lifestyle, one free of hunting humans, the urges to grew more strong, and he found that it was harder than ever not to follow the sort of things vampires infamously thrived off of.

The third time he had found him cornered in Fuji's bedroom, with only less than an hour of dusk left before the sun rose. Fuji had been very, very foolish to corner him. He was still maintaining control, but defiantly not as much as he needed. Fuji leaned down to sniff his breath, and he must have caught the scent of blood that now permanently lingered on his lips. The boy drew back curiously, tilting his head to the side slightly. Tezuka's heart throbbed; right now, it was very difficult for him to remain in control.

Such became obvious when raw desire took over everything else, and he found himself leaping out at the human, pinning him to the floor.

All sorts of strange emotions came racing to him when he felt the body securely under his. Fuji's warmth was enough to drive a man crazy, or at least Tezuka. Fuji lay there, dazed and gasping. Tezuka's eyes widened, and the intensity of them was the final thing that tied the ropes to Fuji that kept him from squirming and beating the man senseless. He could sense it, too. Tezuka had never been acute in sensing thoughts, much less his own. Tezuka could feel everything. He was thrown into a storm of a teenager's emotions, and hit hard by the sudden anger that Fuji felt of being pinned to the floor. The anger wasn't enough to make Fuji move, and perhaps Tezuka wielded such emotion against Fuji. There was a wonderful mixture of dreading, and fear intertwining around all the others that flooded his head and made him lose any other thought, any thought that didn't have to do with Fuji.

The sheer volume, the filling quality of these emotions, was enough to make his head swim.

All he could remember after that was losing every value he'd ever held, losing all that control he'd worked so hard for. His hands were around Fuji's warm throat, and His lips were pausing just barely a millimeter above the skin, taking the scent of the growing fear that Fuji radiated.

Something Fuji had said, in a startled and gasping choke, had brought him out of the trance, and suddenly he realized who was lying beneath him. Fuji looked at him with angry blue eyes, clear and dark. Yet… despite such a display of anger he was able to sense minute tremors coming from the body under his. Fuji was scared beyond his wits right now, and the anger was there because of the all too human instinct to lash out at the source of fear.

It was fascinating that Fuji was able to conceal such fear, so well.

Tezuka, in his so many years, had seen men and women cower before him, plead for mercy, splutter out meaningless love confessions, struggle, everything, and make empty promises that would mean nothing in a few minutes.

The fact that Fuji was not pleading or whimpering might have been the only thing that made him draw back. However, he struggled for lack of air, coughing and choking when Tezuka's hands tightened around his throat.

Easing his hands from Fuji's soft throat, he pushed himself away from the boy. Fuji lay there for a moment; those pretty blue eyes still wide and clouded with both shock and anger. The emotion was beginning to dissipate. Fuji closed his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. Soon enough, he was sitting up, and when Tezuka moved to make his escape, he grabbed him.

Tezuka didn't even know a human could muster such a strong grip. Fuji's lips were not pulled into a typical smile, but an angry frown. A pair of fingers pulled him back, and Tezuka almost stumbled at the display of strength; it was enough to crush bone, if he hadn't been as he was.

That grip, though, was probably only thanks to adrenaline that was finally beginning to take effect.

He asked if Fuji was all right, and the strangling grip was released for a moment as Fuji slowly traced a path on his own neck. Tezuka's eyesight caught it, the beginnings of a bruise. The skin, which looked so light and fragile, would bruise from being squeezed so roughly. His eyes followed the path Fuji traced across his neck temptingly, but he drew his gaze away. Fuji's features clenched in anger and frustration.

Tezuka said nothing in response.

Fuji was even more frustrated, but what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to apologize? Was he supposed to tell Fuji what he was? Fuji certainly wouldn't believe him. He seemed like a logical, intelligent boy who wouldn't believe in the idea of ghosts, much less vampires.

He'd just think that Tezuka was a freak; that perhaps, might have been a wise thing to do. It would keep Fuji a good distance away from him, permanently. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold himself in the face of temptation before the control that he valued shattered completely, and he ended up killing Fuji. The boy was stupid in ways. Maybe, just maybe he sensed that Tezuka was dangerous and was not the person who should have been one to associate with. He blatantly ignored that, though. Fuji seemed to have an awful knack for tempting danger just for a good challenge, just for fun.

Such foolishness was enough to be fatal.

That was just as stupid as a woman who was so infatuated that her better judgment did not come into play. Fuji was nowhere near prudent, and it showed. Fuji had already probably had a near brush with death, and by goodness if Tezuka had bitten him, it would've been the end of it. Tezuka was so sure that one taste of that blood would have been enough to send him over the edge into insanity.

Once one lost it, there was no going back.

Fuji may have left for school that day, but his face remained burned deeply into his mind, just like a curse. Tezuka, his eyes already straining from the little sunlight he'd been exposed to in Fuji's room, found the darkest spot, a corner in the closet away from all light sources. He brought his knees up to his chest, quietly. He looked at the skin of his left arm. It was slightly red, burned. It radiated pain. Pain, however, was something that Tezuka was used to, and would no longer mind. It always healed. There was never a time in which his wounds failed to close. It would just… hurt for a while. However, a burn from the sun was severe… he folded his arms against his chest and sighed.

Fuji's smile was still burning within his memories.

Those eyes were haunting him more than ever. Tezuka was feeling frustrated, for not being able to get a mere human out of his mind.

Tezuka couldn't have been exactly sure when he drifted off like that, curled up in that corner, but he obviously did, because he was met with darkness, and the slowly fading pain from his burnt arm. Sleep wasn't like human sleep; at least it wasn't for Tezuka. It was just a brief time in which Tezuka drifted of, curled in a dark corner. He never dreamed, and he never regained energy from sleep. Of course, blood was his energy. Sleep was just a period of mental rest while the daylight hours wavered on. Sleep came because Tezuka couldn't go near the sun, and had to wait out the hours in which he kept to the darkest corners of the world

Fuji came back later offering food and asking (demanding, really) some sort of company. The food, for him, was no good. This food was something that humans ate, not vampires. Feigning slight interest in it, he held the plate and even brought the fork up to his mouth once. Never, though, did Tezuka allow the food to touch his lips, and a few minutes later Fuji gave up trying to make him eat and just set the plate aside.

Why he was playing around this, he didn't know. Fuji was just a human. It wasn't hard to push him away and tell Fuji that was going, and to order Fuji to stay away. However, there was something more to it, something that was very frustrating. Fuji was a very filling presence, and perhaps annoyed people. He was a hard person to get away from, it seemed.

Even when Fuji was only a mere human, he had a strong grip on Tezuka, even when Tezuka should have easily been able to easily release himself from such a hold.

His mind flashed before him, to the moment he had seen Fuji last, before he walked into the old house and locked the door behind him, locking Fuji out.

Fuji wasn't as scared this time, as he was curious, he thought. At least, that was what he could logically assume. Being a vampire, it was easy to smell fear like dogs and wild animals did. Fuji was not laden with the intoxicating scent of it this time; rather, he just stood there, not resisting the gentle hold that kept him on his feet.

The next time, when they were standing there on the porch of the old house, Tezuka felt far more in control. He could feel Fuji's soft, gentle breathing beneath his lips. He could hear each pulse of the strong heart. He could smell the blood that ran under Fuji's skin. If he was in control, he should've been able to resist, though. Fuji was a tempting being, though. He'd come across ones more tempting than this, but what made it unique was the fact he had held out so long against his longings. In any other situation his fangs would have glinted in the moonlight, while he stalked quietly, using his unearthly charms to lull the person into a sense of false security.

Fuji wasn't like that.

Deep down, Fuji knew that this wasn't right. Fuji knew what Tezuka was, though perhaps only in his subconscious. Fuji knew the trouble he was getting himself into it, and accepted it inevitably in his heart. Without even knowing it himself, Fuji leaned over and offered it out to Tezuka, a temptation that proved to be too hard to resist.

His lips pressed Fuji's warm neck, and he again was able to feel the minute tremors the boy gave off. Though he didn't act it, he had to admit deep down, halfheartedly that this was intoxicating, the way Fuji stayed still under his touch, waiting all too expectantly for what might come next. His tongue passed against the line of the boy's jaw, and Fuji just had to shiver.

He'd found Fuji's racing pulse beneath the skin of the neck, but why he didn't bite down was still unknown, even to Tezuka. There was a thud when he released Fuji; the boy fell. Tezuka, guided by impulse didn't even spare Fuji a second glance. All he did was open the door, shut it all to quickly behind him, lock it, and collapse onto the floor.

Fuji must've proved to be some serious bad luck.

That week, he'd run into Wolfe quite a few times, and he was less than happy about the strange murders that were taking place. He wanted to blame somebody for them, anyone. It just so happened that as Tezuka was the leader of the only group of vampires in the area, so it was sensible to blame him.

Wolfe knew the way things worked in vampire society. He knew about territory, and groups, and lone vampires. He knew it almost too well. Then again, his family had been in the business even longer than Tezuka had been a vampire. The first of the line that Tezuka ever had to deal with was Wolfe's late ancestor so many generations back, that by now, Tezuka had long since lost count. He could still remember their names and faces visibly; he just couldn't count them. Every nine or ten years a new one would come along. It was rumored among the older, more powerful vampires, saying that this line went back even farther than the medieval era. The family line, in fact, was rumored to have existed for at least a century. For at least seven hundred of those years, the family had been in the profession of hunting vampires.

From generation to generation, the family job was passed along to the eldest son, often times when he was only a young teenager. The lifespan of the Wolfe family line was laughably short. Currently the man who'd hunted him only five years ago, James Wolfe's father, was bedridden, with failing health at the age of thirty-five. The mother in the family ran out long ago.

The son was surprisingly proficient at not only supporting his father, but also giving Tezuka a while lot of trouble.

Then, it was easy to tell that the skills needed to hunt vampires ran in the family. After all, Wolfe had only been hunting by himself for five years, but in the past year, he was a considerably harder opponent to beat. Already, Tezuka had many near brushes with death.

He was growing less and less patient, too.

Today had not been an exception.

Today… he'd run into Wolfe at a bad time. His strength had been waning for the last couple of days. Wolfe had held up very well against Tezuka tonight, and the wounds that he received were far more limiting than anything else. He'd lost a very good amount of blood and would need to feed sooner or later, but right now he wasn't able to find the strength to stand up. He needed to wait until some of the wounds healed over, though he didn't know how long it would take for that to happen.

"Oh, it's raining!" There were voices nearby that Tezuka's sensitive ears were just barely detect. The first voice was strange to him, but a second voice sounded, and he immediately knew who it was. There was a small feeling growing within his stomach. The rain overpowered the sound of the voice, for a moment,, but when he repeated the sound carried over it. The voice meshed well with the sound of pounding rain.

"Shame, I neglected brining an umbrella today," he mentioned casually, as if it was really no big deal at all. "I wouldn't have thought that the weatherman would be right for once." The other snorted, slightly, and took a deep breath. Fuji stopped and paused, slightly.

"Well, let's get back, before we get too wet. I don't want to catch a cold, and you should watch it as well." The voice paused. After a moment, he replied. "After all, Fuji, you have an awful knack for getting yourself ill."

"Atobe, I'm not a fragile woman Stop treating me like one."

Atobe opened his mouth to speak again. They were close. Tezuka's senses, though dulled by blood loss, were able to pick up their presence acutely. He could here their footsteps, hear their heartbeats, and most of all, smell the overpowering scent of Fuji, the scent of his blood.

"Either way, let's get back. You wouldn't want to get sick. We have those exams for the university coming up. Genius Fuji Shuusuke wouldn't want to fail the tests just because he caught a little cold, would he?" The voice taunted a little.

"I will do no such thing." Fuji replied tersely. Suddenly, Fuji stopped walking. He knew that it was Fuji because there was a sneeze right at the moment when the footsteps stopped. The other man stopped.

"See? You're already getting sick." The man pointed out.

"Atobe, you go ahead," Fuji mentioned casually. Tezuka paused and lifted his head just a fraction. A sudden pain traveled through his temples, and he was forced to lie down again. The throbbing pain faded, but he wasn't able to see anything, and his desire had been to get an idea of where Fuji was. Right now all he could see was a clear puddle of rainwater that was forming into something larger and larger.

"What? What do you need to do?"

"I just realized that I forgot to do something. I'll call you later tonight. We can study later."

"Then I'll come with you." Atobe said softly, taking a step towards Fuji.

"No! I told you that I'd call you. Just go home, Atobe."

" I think that that's a lie, Fuji. Don't lie." His voice was serious. "After all, Ore-sama has incredible insight," he added pompously. Fuji didn't make any noise, but replied smoothly, his words silvery.

"If you had that much insight, then you would already know what I needed to do, no?"

"Suit yourself." It was a good five minutes before Fuji was moving again. Perhaps he had been waiting until Atobe vanished from sight. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. A hand brushed his cheek, and it was such a sudden shock that he had to sit up. A wave of pain greeted him, and he groaned. He was sitting upright though, looking at Fuji, who was drenched head to toe in rain.

"What are you doing here?" Tezuka asked, sharply, strictly. Fuji didn't flinch at the tone. Rather, he was looking Tezuka over from head to toe, inspecting the wounds and burns that dotted themselves all over his body. It truly looked as if Tezuka had been beaten up, and they were still a hindrance even when they were beginning to heal.

"I should be asking you that," replied Fuji, calm as ever. "What sort of fight did you get into? You look half-dead."

Tezuka didn't respond.

"Tezuka," he asked. Tezuka didn't respond again. Fuji was foolish. Foolish. He mind as well be laying on the ground and outstretching his neck for Tezuka, doing such a thing at a time like this, when Tezuka was so raw with thirst and deprived of the energy and life he so needed. He knew very well that even if he managed to stand, it wouldn't be for long.

"Never mind," said Fuji, with a slight hint of peevishness in his voice. "You're coming with me whether you like it or not." Tezuka was pulled forcefully to his feet, and he struggled to stand even with Fuji's help.

"You help is not needed," Tezuka rasped. "Go with you friend." Fuji paused for a minute, looking curious.

"How did you know about Atobe? We didn't even pass by here. We were a good few blocks down."

Tezuka looked stern as well, but offered up a single sensible answer. "I have good hearing." His look was that of slight annoyance. "How did you know I was here?"

"Intuition," Fuji answered, all too quickly.

"Intuition?" Tezuka asked.

"Yes, and you're coming with me now," Fuji replied stubbornly, not allowing Tezuka to even think of pulling in the opposite direction. Tezuka was pulled further up onto his feet, but he wasn't exactly standing straight. His knees were bent, not baring his own weight very well at all. For a moment, his chin rested uncomfortably on Fuji's shoulders. His senses were overtaken by a strong scent of orchids and cherry blossom. He wondered where it came from.

Truthfully, it was because Fuji had ran out of the usual type of shampoo he usually used, and because his hair needed to be cleaned to be washed, he ended up using his mother's floral-scented shampoo. It was embarrassing, really, but who would tell?

One might not have noticed Tezuka had a stronger sense of smell than most people did.

Part of Tezuka didn't' like that Fuji smelled like a girl; boys and girls usually had pretty distinctive scents, and right now Fuji smelled almost exactly like a woman. However, even if he wouldn't admit it, the smell of the blood permeating off of Fuji's skin mixed well with the scent of floral shampoo.

Perhaps when Tezuka looked at the boy, he noticed that was why he smelled flowers. Maybe he didn't even need to look in Fuji's direction to realize that the boy was disgruntled for having to use woman's shampoo. His aptitude of Fuji's thoughts was strange; it was like a very well tuned radio.

They limped along in the pouring rain in silence for some while. Things were awkward between them, and Fuji was obviously not happy at all that Tezuka was not accepting his help. (No, that was not just from realizing that Tezuka might have assumed that he always used scented shampoo.)

Tezuka couldn't have told Fuji that the only reason he did so was because it was for his own safety. No, no, no.

The silence between them was broken. "It's strange…" Fuji pondered, almost in a way that it could be considered he was only thinking aloud. He pulled Tezuka's arm more around his shoulder to steady him, and then continued walking. "Whenever I see you, you seem to be injured. It's a strange coincidence I'm meeting you so much."

Fuji was right; after all, this was a city, and they were only two people among millions. Tezuka, in fact, didn't even have trouble admitting it; Fuji hadn't needed say it, because he knew it. He may not have mentioned it aloud, but it was something he might have mentioned if he was more talkative.

He agreed with Fuji.

Tezuka's lips parted. "Ah," he agreed.

They were walking again, in companionable silence this time. They were quiet, not arguing, not talking, and not even looking at each other. Fuji just helped Tezuka along, and Tezuka paid absolutely no attention to Fuji, perhaps in a rude way. Part of Fuji was scowling, but the other part paid absolutely no attention. His eyes were quietly scanning the ground calmly, paying Tezuka absolutely no regard. His face was smiling. Some people walking down the street stared, especially when Fuji was helping Tezuka up the front steps. Fuji acted as if they were there in the first place.

Fuji opened the door with his one free hand and called in.

"Mother, hello!"

"Oh, Shuusuke, hello."

Fuji paused for a minute, removing his shoes before even stepping in the doorway. "Are you in the kitchen?" There was a pregnant pause, curious.

"Yes, Shuusuke. Why do you ask?" All too suddenly, he was being pulled into the doorway by Fuji, being dragged all to quickly to Fuji's room for words, almost stumbling slightly a few times. Fuji, seeming to pay absolutely no attention to the fact that Tezuka could barely stand, as he practically shoved Tezuka into the room. Tezuka nearly tripped and hit his head on the dresser.

"Shuusuke?" Just when Tezuka disappeared into the doorway, his mother poked her head out of the door to see if something was wrong. "Shuusuke, dear, are you all right? I thought I heard somebody fall." Fuji rubbed the back of his head and gave her a convincing smile.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, mother. I tripped over my own feet, but I'm fine."

"All right, then. Tell me if you need anything." Fuji's mother disappeared back into the kitchen. Tezuka was surprised at how convincing of a liar that Fuji was; he was, after all, somebody who gave true smiles and tricky excuses. Did he plan out everything beforehand, or did he just come up with those sorts of things on the top of his head.

He turned to Tezuka, who was on his knees on the ground. His eyes deadened, and opened, revealing stunning blue orbs. They were captivating, even when they were human. However, they were cold and serious. This was a clear foil of what Fuji and just been. He knelt on the ground next to Tezuka and stared at him forebodingly.

Perhaps he knew why other people squirmed under such a gaze; of course, he had to admit staying that while under such a frightening look was uncomfortable he still managed.

Tezuka's eyes surveyed Fuji, the human that he'd found so tempting over the past few days. The boy was looking at him expectantly, hoping for an answer. Tezuka stayed silent. Even when Fuji demanded like this, he didn't want to explain, for some reason. Whether or not it would keep Fuji away, he wanted to avoid endless questions. It wasn't every day that one came across somebody like that.

Fuji, being the person he was, wouldn't have allowed such things past. He would've questioned endlessly.

Tezuka hated people who didn't know when to stop prodding. Fuji was all too forceful, it seemed. Yet somehow, he wasn't able to detach himself from the presence of the odd, yet manipulative boy, the human that had captured his attention so quickly after years and years of truly being able to say that he was alone.

Yet deeply etched with in Fuji's eyes, he spotted understanding in Fuji's eyes, and found that it would be easier to say it without specifically mentioning it, but implying it instead. "You already know," he observed quietly. Fuji's cold, forceful eyes blinked once and widened slightly.

"No, I don't," he argued a minute later, in a calm and even tone of voice. Fuji was a frustrating person to try and talk to. Tezuka, however, ignored it and figured that eventually Fuji would try and figure out another way. He couldn't move from this spot until then. Fuji's harsh, challenging eyes tied him down to the spot.

Years ago, he would have laughed wryly, to think that a human would have such control over his life. "Should I help you stand up," Fuji asked a minute later, sounding slightly defeated, but satisfied. Tezuka nodded, and they both used all their strength to get to their feet. Tezuka found himself relying on Fuji's strength again, irritatingly. He sighed and closed his eyes, then paused.

"Tezuka?" Fuji seemed to pause, perhaps because there was a blank, expressionless emotion written across his face. His eyes were blank, like a clean slate. Fuji paused again, and seemed to be trying to say something, but stumbling over his words. Tezuka quirked his head to the side, and that seemed to do it. Fuji burst into what sounded like a combination of a soft chuckle and uncontrollable laughter. Tezuka didn't understand what was quite so funny, and Fuji seemed to realize that. Fuji stifled the laughter into his hands and turned the gaze away from Tezuka. Tezuka, currently, didn't understand it at all. Whatever had made Fuji laugh was something that Tezuka had absolutely no clue about. He blinked, confused.

"What is it?" He asked, slowly while Fuji still remained consumed by peels of laughter.

"Nothing, nothing," he replied as he slowly regained control of his own breath. He paused lightly. Tezuka was still looking at him strangely. Fuji turned his eyes up to face Tezuka, and the man found surprisingly that those eyes were so different than they had been a minute ago. Once cold, they were now considerably softer, filled with warmth and swimming with odd, slightly childish joy. They glittered with laugher and mirth, and they were happier than Tezuka had ever seen somebody. Even when he didn't want to be captured by those eyes, he found that he was held there effectively, his hand resting lightly on Fuji's arm. The eyes still glistened with warmth, and for just a moment, Tezuka thought he could've sworn he saw sunlight in them.

They were brighter than anything Tezuka had seen other than the sun, something that he secretly missed dreadfully. Perhaps that's the only reason he stood there and didn't say anything, enjoying the happiness Fuji radiated for as long as it was offered.

He neglected that those eyes, so pure and clean, could've remained like that for very long at all. In fact, he forgot to even think that this might not have been a normal display at all, that Fuji's usual display of happiness was only a smile. He neglected that maybe, just maybe Fuji had been happier than he'd been in a long time, over something so trivial that made no sense.

Despite such negligence, he had to admit to himself that when he saw those eyes, a small glimmer of happiness and hope made its way into his heart.


	8. Chapter Seven DREAMS

Oh my god! This took me so long to complete! I want to try and update plenty before November, because during that month I'll be working on my novel for NaNoWriMo and won't be able to commit almost any time to this.

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns, not me. I'm only borrowing the characters

**Please review!!** Reviewing is much appreciated, because it helps me out a lot. Don't forget it motivates me! Anything you say or suggest might help me turn out chapters faster.

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**Chapter 7 _Dreams_**  
_-Tezuka-  
The Past_

"Shuusuke!"

Tezuka gave a muffled grunt when he felt sudden, unexpected force overtake him. Fuji practically tackled him in the process of bringing a blanket over his head. Then, he was pushed none-too-gently behind the closet door. "Fuji," he said, dissatisfaction eminent in his voice. Fuji ignored it, practically leaped to the spot where he was sitting moments before, and picked up with what he was doing. Only a second later, the door opened, and Fuji's mother poked her head in.

"Shuusuke, honey, I have to go out to see Yuuta. It's an emergency. Will you be all right here alone, or do you want to come with?" There he sat when she opened a door, looking all too innocent. His pencil was clutched between his fingertips. From behind the door, Tezuka pushed the blanket over his head and tried to see without being noticed.

"Really?" Fuji asked, though still smiling. "What's wrong with Yuuta?" After he said that, he inclined his head towards his mother and seemed to have forgotten about Tezuka, who's eyes were currently drilling holes in the closet door, even though his main focus was on sitting so still that the woman wouldn't notice he was almost directly behind Fuji.

"Oh, it seems he's come down with a high fever, the flu, I think. The school called and told me that he wasn't feeling well, and that if I wanted to, I would be allowed to visit him. I know you have school in the morning, but if you want to come with…" She trailed off.

"No, mother, it's all right. I'll be fine here. When will you be back?" His mother, with her hair askew and uncharacteristically messy, rubbed her forehead.

"The morning after tomorrow, at the latest. You know how long a trip up to Yuuta's school is. I left you some food in the fridge. That should be enough to last you until I get back. Oh, and I've talked to Ms. Jones, next door. She said that if there's any problem, all you need to do is call her and she'll be glad to help."

"I see," Fuji nodded. The phrase didn't seem to placate his mother.

"Remember to do your homework, now. I don't want your grades suffering because you won't study while I'm not here." She hurriedly brushed hair out of her eyes, struggling slightly. Tezuka, through the small gap between the door and the wall, was able to get a small image of the woman. She was stunningly similar to Fuji, though a little shorter and slighter. "And remember; eat, Shuusuke. There's plenty of food." She herself was holding a small travel bag and a plate wrapped in tinfoil. The plate was probably for Fuji's brother Yuuta, perhaps one of his favorite snacks or desserts.

"Of course I will." Fuji said compliantly, though his tone of voice was almost too sweet to be considered normal. Tezuka blinked.

"All right then. I'm leaving now, if there isn't any trouble with it. I'll have the cell phone with me, so if there's really any serious problems, call me and I'll be back here in a heartbeat." She seemed almost like a compulsive worrier at this point. "I'm sorry. I have to leave now, or I won't be there by sunrise; I want to get there as soon as possible, since it sounds like he's very sick. Goodbye."

"See you later," Fuji said pleasantly, going back to his work when his mother closed the door. He yanked the closet door forward a little, after that. At the sudden jerk, Tezuka fell forward almost, though he caught himself quickly. The blanket fell from his shoulders, and Fuji's lips curled, as if there was something particularly amusing about the situation. They were sitting in very close proximity, really. Tezuka sat behind Fuji, with his legs crossed; his nose was barely centimeters away from the back of Fuji's neck. He paused, and then pulled curtly awake, standing and stretching slightly. He never got stiff anymore, but stretching was still a force of habit, even years later.

Fuji's face was never red. On the contrary, he seemed complacent with the fact that Tezuka was practically pressed against him, breathing down his neck. Fuji's pencil continued to scratch across paper, while Tezuka regained the composure. He hadn't lost much of it, but the experience left him unsettled, nonetheless.

Even now, when he urged himself to get away from Fuji, he wasn't quite able to do it, because Fuji had put his hand out and offered something that Tezuka hadn't been given in a long time. No, this time he wasn't talking about blood. Tezuka, a person who seemed stone cold, even back when he was a human, didn't necessarily have a lot of friends, or companions for that matter. Fuji offered him companionship, and subconsciously, he accepted it, because Fuji was tolerant of the silence that he enjoyed.

Excluding the fact that he liked his time when he was allowed to be alone, among the seemingly endless duties of a leader, he found that he was relatively solitary for most of the time, and he had fewer companions than he did a long, long time ago. His group was a small one, yet their region extended far and wide. Tezuka, somebody who had become so strong in such a short amount of time, was something to be feared. He did not have the iron-edged advantage of being able to do things that the 'younger' vampires could not. However, Tezuka had the edge of sharpened senses, acute to things that many of his kind couldn't sense, along with his unbridled passion towards challenges and harsh, yet effective leadership skills.

Even with such advantages, there came the disadvantages.

No, smarter vampires would stay out of his territory, unless they intended on joining his group. Yes, he had selected this region because there were considerably less hunters here. (The Wolfe family, though, did not top his benefits list, though.) The good thing was that most would leave him alone, but to counter that, there was always a more ancient vampire that could always come into the picture, come in and destroy everything. Their population was not a large one, but scattered across the world were a good few thousand vampires, and all too often one would run across one a wild rogue, who played with the human mind for fun and took all too much pleasure in the sharp, yet sweet taste of blood on the tongue.

Tezuka had only seen a creature of that sort once, but the memory stuck with him. That memory, the night he'd been knocked aside so badly. Never, in so many years, had Tezuka been defeated so utterly and completely. That was the sort of creature that took pleasure only in killing his victims, but not before playing with them first. With a penchant for the beautiful young village girls, he seemed to be the most efficient hunter, and killer of all vampires.

That night, Tezuka had nearly lost his life to the hands of that other vampire. There weren't many who were willing to kill their own kind, unless there was eminent threat.

Tezuka was not like those sorts of people; even when he had hunted humans, he had never been as deceptively seductive as some were. He killed his victims, yes, but there was no foreplay. Tezuka was very curt about it. His presence was enough to freeze many women, so he didn't need to work on convincing them any more. If he were the sort of person who had liked to play like that, immediately, he would've been on the prowl, coyly luring Fuji away from the crowd and into a dark alleyway, where nobody could hear the sound of a scream. Fuji snapped him back to reality with the incessant scratching of the pencil. He finished, and displayed his work to Tezuka.

At that moment, he realized that the human hadn't been doing homework at all, and rather than a notebook, he held a sketchbook in his lap. The pages, thick and with the texture of canvas, held ink and lead well. Displayed on the page before him was the strengthening image of Tezuka; there he sat, with his arms folded and his knees up to his chest. His eyes were averted to the window. Tezuka blinked as he traced the lines with his eyes, then reached out to touch the paper. Fuji's smiling face seemed expectant, as if he hoped for Tezuka to say something about the thing.

He never really thought that art could come to life, but Fuji's held much emotion. The still, yet realistic images seemed to dance out on the page, as if rather than it being a picture, it had been a photograph. Each sketchy line depicting a basic outline was traced over with a stronger, bolder line. Fuji's intense gaze was on him, and he lowered his head. Fuji seemed to expect him to answer an unspoken question, but he had no clue what to say.

"You're an artist?" he asked quietly, his fingers touching the smooth, thick paper, tracing near the lines, but never near enough to smudge the pencil. Fuji smiled, almost contempt. Strange… Tezuka never really expected that Fuji was much of an egotist, but still, the boy seemed very satisfied that Tezuka was impressed by his drawing.

"Yes. It's always been a hobby of mine."

The lines traced further, winding in delicate curves and sharp angles, receding into shadows that ran along his cheekbone and neck. Ruffled, messy hair appeared darker in Fuji's drawings. He looked up. "Do you draw more?" Fuji handed him the sketchbook, and Tezuka began flipping through it starting on the first page.

It was easy to see a progression in skills. Fuji's drawings started off well drawn, but the details slackened. As he turned the page, each drawing appeared more and more accurate, with sharper and more concise details. Fuji's chosen subject was people. The subjects ranged from a girl sitting at her desk writing in her notebook to a dirty-looking man sitting on the side of the street. Despite the fact that they were all too real, they had a certain regal aura to them, with the astounding realism. The lives of the person jumped off the page, along with the story of Fuji's attitude towards them. It was, as if, they had all been drawn with a fascination for detail, for the smaller parts of the people that others often didn't account for. He breathed outwards in a sigh. He reached page with his own picture on it and handed him back the book.

"That's interesting," he told Fuji, though he sounded non-committal about it. Fuji's smile only seemed to grow.

"Ah, thank you, Tezuka." He stood up and set the pencil and sketchbook on the chest of drawers. His eyes traced the walls, assorted with both framed and unframed photos, mounted and not mounted; Fuji's fascination with people seemed to reflect in his photos as well. In the background, stood Fuji, among all his photography. Tezuka had to blink once when the images blurred. He was unable to clarify a reason why he couldn't see properly. Fuji held his history textbook and another workbook in hand. Tezuka paused as he went towards the door. "You know, I'd like to draw you again, sometime. You're an interesting subject." The way Fuji said it, Tezuka could have sworn there was a tiny, seductive hint in there. He decided that it would be best to ignore it.

"I'm going to watch the news and do my homework. You aren't going to stay in here, are you Tezuka?"

Tezuka, at another time, would have suggested that Fuji should be alone, and that he wasn't able to stay there any longer. Perhaps, though, he had already built up a tolerance to the boy and decided that being around him was safe enough. Sometimes, things like that could be confusing. However, Tezuka unconsciously was hungering for some sort of human presence, something, he could assure to himself time and time again, something that was tangible. Fuji was able to control his better judgment, somehow. Wordlessly, he stood; leaving the blanket that Fuji had thrown over him a while ago on the ground.

Fuji had already beaten him into the living room, and had already switched on the television set in order to watch the news. The man's voice rang across the room, reading out what was to be reported. Tezuka hadn't watched any news broadcasts in years, and they had changed. Even the people talked differently. Then again, Tezuka was more used to newspapers than anything. Television sets were still something he chose to ignore.

"Another person," Fuji muttered to himself as he scribbled math formulas into his workbook absentminded. Tezuka realized that he was familiar with some of the equations, and that in his distraction, Fuji was writing them wrong. Approaching the television, he tilted his head. _'Mysterious Murders Continue'_ was what the headline read.

Tezuka blinked. Fuji stared.

"_Once again, the mysterious murders continue. As we know last week, Emily Chang, young model, was found dead just last week. On Wednesday evening another young woman was found, Christine Romanov. The death is confirmed to be in the same manner, but police refuse to release any information on forensic evidence. The autopsy reports have not been declared public yet. Follow up on the story will be provided once the police release anything to the public." _

The scene cut to the chief of police for the city, refusing to make any comment pertaining to the girl's death, and assuring the many reporters crowded around him that the police were seeking justice for the 'tragically unfortunate' deaths of the 'innocent' young women. Tezuka scoffed slightly at the man's tone, but Fuji seemed not to notice. Rather, he sat on the couch still writing out formulas and theorems. They were surprisingly inaccurate. Tezuka sat down beside Fuji, and the scribbling continued.

"Tezuka," Fuji said a moment later, his voice all too soft.

"Do you know who might have a connection with this?" Tezuka paused, but decided that it was better if he didn't tell Fuji anything. There was no use telling the teenager such things. No matter how insightful and mature for his age Fuji seemed, Tezuka reminded himself, with a strange twinge in his heart, that humans were very deceptive people. Tezuka always used to think he could trust people, but Fuji made him uneasy, somehow. Besides, there might have been consequences. If he were to drag Fuji into something that he wasn't even distantly related to, it would destroy the human. Affairs could get complicated.

"I don't know, Fuji." Fuji's closed eyes scanned over him, but after that, Fuji said nothing on the subject.

"You're lying," Fuji said acutely. Tezuka mentally slammed his palm onto his forehead, feeling slight frustration that Fuji was able to see passed a cleverly devised, convincing lie. Why such a human was able to, he wasn't sure. It confused him, actually. Tezuka pushed his glasses up on his nose, while Fuji continued to take notes while staring at him.

"Fuji, stop the nonsense." Fuji's eyes didn't open, but he could still feel the burning intensity of the expectant gaze. Tezuka calmly shifted off to the side, away from Fuji. The boy ignored it calmly, as if it was under his expectations that Tezuka would seem ruffled by this question. His inquiry had only been the slightest ripple on water, barely detectable. However, Fuji was delving deep, attempting to touch the water that had always been carefully guarded. "I don't know who might be connected to the murders."

He did, really, but Fuji didn't need to know that.

"Really, Tezuka…." He replied, sounding slightly exasperated, though teasing at the same time. "_Mou,_" he repeated again, though this time his speech was in a soft and fluid Japanese. Tezuka tilted his head only slightly in consideration of Fuji's speech, while the boy absentmindedly sketched a twisting vine across the lines of the notebook paper, running alongside his notes about the French revolution, details about Napoleon Bonaparte written in fine, neat cursive. Fuji only sketched the details out of pure whim, it seemed. Only the things that Fuji was particularly fascinated with were put into detail.

Fuji's lips moved with wordless song, with a breeze of invisible wind, and Tezuka could almost feel the corners of his lips tweaking upwards, even when his stern, even frown remained. Fuji sat there calmly, while the storm raged on.

Undeniably, he couldn't let himself admit that the warmth that Fuji emitted was tempting.

Of course, for decades now, it had always been tempting to him, hadn't it? Perhaps one could reason out that was the reason that vampires had sought out human blood. Rumors and stories about their kind raged rampantly over the globe, each varying by region. Tezuka, sometimes, wasn't even quite sure how to accurately describe vampirism. Some among their kind said that they were descendents of the first true vampires, creatures that had never been human.

Unlike those stories, though, Tezuka could assure that almost all vampires had, at one time, been human.

Perhaps it was those urges alone that drove vampires to seek human blood rather than anything else. Perhaps that was why the smell of blood permeating from a person's skin remained like a fingerprint to those with acute senses. This was, maybe why vampires sought as much blood as they could take, so that they were filled with warmth once again as they had been so long ago.

The warmth never really did last, though. Soon, it would fade eerily away like the passing ocean breeze. It was a craving and addiction, a need and a desire. However, the addiction had fatal consequences. It tore human bodies until they lay listless; it killed. All at once, Tezuka was something that he had both feared and hated, something that he absolutely detested. That was saying something, too. He usually didn't hate with such vehemence. However, if he were to take a knife out and stab it, he would suffer the fatal consequences. One might have considered Tezuka selfless, but he wasn't when it came to his own life. Everyone had a sense of self-preservation, including Tezuka. The one thing that always remained was the human nature to try and survive, no matter what.

There were people who sometimes did chose to sacrifice rather than save themselves from danger, but the numbers of people who actually were able to carry through with the actual deed were astoundingly few. It was so easy to say that a person would give his or her life for something, but then it came to the real thing, and everyone scattered. Dying that way wasn't all that glorious. The person fell into the hands of the enemy, and often times the point never got across.

Not many would die for glory or honor. Tezuka felt that he probably wasn't one of those few truly selfless and committed people who could truly say that they would die for their cause.

Fuji was looking at him strangely now, waving a hand in front of his face. Instinctively, Tezuka knocked it away and blinked. The image of Fuji was now clearer. His face was tilted in concern, and his notebook was being ignored in his lap. Tezuka's vision cleared further. Fuji had inched his way closer to Fuji. "Are you feeling all right, Tezuka?" Thunder shook the house. Tezuka's vision blurred, and this time he had to blink in order to clear it up. Tezuka's heart beat strangely at the sight of Fuji, and his clear blue eyes, something that could hold anybody in place. They drilled through him with such intensity, such intensity that Tezuka might have almost squirmed at it.

Fuji's face was surprisingly close; he leaned across the couch so that his mouth was next to Tezuka's cheek. Lightning shone through the windows, lighting up Fuji with a harsh white, which clashed with the shadows under his chin and by his arms. It made Fuji's hair seem to radiate an ethereal glow.

Maybe he would have blushed, if he were more human. Maybe, just maybe… If he hadn't lost almost all of his humanity a long time ago, just maybe…

The world grew deathly silent, for only a moment in time. Tezuka stood there for that one minute, utterly taken aback and shocked by it. It felt like something was twisting in his chest that prevented him from breathing, even though that couldn't be literal. Breathing was only a common reflex; vampires didn't need to breathe, though. It sure felt like he was drowning, though. Tezuka had nearly drowned when he was little, and that was similar to what it felt like now.

Fuji only blinked. His hand reached out to touch Fuji's shoulders, but the sudden, harsh sound of the phone made them both jump, and Fuji was suddenly far from Tezuka's touch. "Fu-" Though he tried to speak, he was interrupted all too quickly when the phone rang again.

The kept ringing. Fuji went to pick it up, slowly, bringing the receiver to his ear. Before that, Tezuka hadn't realized how close that Fuji had gotten, how close he allowed Fuji to get. His heart ached with a strange emotion as he watched Fuji lower his head slightly, then pull away so he could stand and go over to the phone, picking it up. He cradled the phone to his ear, humming.

"Yes, Atobe, what do you want?" There was a pause as Fuji listened to the distant voice over the phone receiver. Tezuka ears could barely pick it up, and the words became along blurred to him. He decided not to pay attention to them.

"No. No, not tonight." There was another pause, and the person on the other end of the line was certainly asking the reason why he wouldn't be allowed to come over. Fuji smiled slyly over a little over at Tezuka, tugging at the cord of the phone.

"My mother went to visit Yuuta, because he is ill. She told me before she left that I wasn't to have any guests in the house well she was gone." Tezuka personally knew that this was not very true at all. In fact, he could probably assume Fuji made it up as an excuse for the person not to come over. After all, Tezuka was here, and Tezuka was most certainly a guest.

"Yes, my mom will be back by the weekend. Yes, we can study then," Fuji replied monotonously.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow then, Atobe. Goodbye." Fuji tugged on the phone cord again, and then a minute later, hung up the phone. Tezuka only blinked, surveying Fuji's closed eyes again. Perhaps this was almost too perplexing for Tezuka to understand at the moment. Soon enough, though, Fuji broke the silence, and pulled Tezuka up by the arm. Tezuka stood up almost too quickly.

"Come on. I have something cool to show you." Fuji went to the closet when he was standing and put on a thick coat, a windbreaker. Tezuka doubted that the garment would repel any rain at this time of night. However, that didn't seem to deter Fuji. He pulled the door open and was stepping outside, bidding for Tezuka to follow him. The man hesitated still.

"Your mother didn't want you to leave the house, Fuji," he provided. Fuji didn't seem to really notice what Tezuka was saying, being as stubborn as he was. In fact, even if he had noticed what Tezuka meant, he wouldn't have cared. Fuji seemed like that sort of person. He just seemed to do whatever he wanted to do.

"She's been gone for an hour now. It's a five-hour drive out to Yuuta's boarding school. She'll stay for at least a day with Yuuta, maybe more if he's really that sick. So, I'm here alone for two days. She won't be back tonight, so it doesn't matter." Tezuka frowned in disapproval, but once again Fuji seemed undeterred. He ignored it completely.

"Come on," He didn't have to pull Tezuka along by the arm in order for the man to follow. "We're going to have to catch the bus." The rain poured down as they walked. Fuji was absolutely soaked, his wet hair clinging almost gracefully to his face. Tezuka's glasses fogged up in the cold night air. Rain dripped off Fuji's chin and fingers. Tezuka was soaked to the bones, but he showed no signs of being chilled. Fuji's breath disappeared into the air in warm clouds.

Tezuka didn't ask where they were going until they were on the bus, and Fuji had deposited their fare. The driver cast them a wary glance, partially in combination of Tezuka's exotic look, the fact that they were both soaked and without umbrellas, and the fact that both Tezuka and Fuji both had strong accents. He, however, grunted and didn't say anything, though he seemed to want to mention something about how pale Tezuka seemed under the muted glow of the bus lights.

Part of Tezuka wondered why he was putting up with Fuji, who was currently looking at the stormy and foreboding weather as if it was a sunny and pleasant day, while he folded his hands neatly on his lap.

"Fuji, do you know where we're going?"

Part of Tezuka thought that Fuji was just picking something at random in order to get out of the house. Tezuka found that idea particularly irritating.

"Why, of course, Tezuka. Have you ever been outside of the city? It's quite nice." Well, of course Tezuka had been out of the city more than once. However, he wasn't like Fuji in the sense that he decided to go somewhere in such horrid weather. The rain was falling in drenching sheets, but it did, in fact, seem to lighten up as they reached the city limits. There was no more lighting or thunder, either, only bleak, rainy sky.

They reached a familiar stop, and when Fuji stood, Tezuka followed. Once again, they were out in the rain. However, the weather wasn't so horrible now. In fact, the storm had slowed to a slow patter. They were probably at the edge of the storm. They were in the suburbs, and if Tezuka was guessing right, it was probably around ten at night. Most of the streets were clear, save for a boy and girl walking home hand-in-hand under an umbrella. Tezuka watched as they reached a doorstep, and they shared parting farewells. The boy kissed the girl on the forehead, and she skipped inside her house giddily. The boy continued down the street until he was out of sight. As he looked away, Tezuka paused to test the air. It was filled with the scent of saltwater. They were by the ocean. Fuji, who didn't seem to want to wait around, was already heading in the source of the smell. "Come on Tezuka!"

Tezuka followed, though in doing so, he might've just ignored the specific scent in the air, which mingled with that of Fuji's. Perhaps he did notice, because his eyes snapped off to the side slightly. However, not wanting to get involved, he decided that it would be best not to investigate further. Ignoring the feeling that crept up into his head and heart, he listened to Fuji's systematic footsteps and calm breathing while he tried to relax.

Fuji only smiled in a manner, which could almost be considered endearing.

A pair of eyes tracked movement along the street as the pair made their way over towards the beach, blinking twice. The smooth, curt ways he showed seemed to be mannerisms adopted from Tezuka. Yet somehow… in his eyes was something a little wilder, something that was perhaps striking.

"Charming, isn't it?" he said in a droll-like voice. The sound reverberated off the trees. "See, he already is able to hold Tezuka's heart in his hands, when Tezuka has never allowed it before. Splendid, splendid… You know, soon enough it will be time." He spoke as if he intended somebody to hear him, but as he was a good deal away from anybody, he had not found that there was anybody to listen. Listlessly, he had watched for a while as a young woman walked down the street, only about ten minutes before arriving by bus. He had thought of luring her away, but his clear warnings to Tezuka didn't go unnoticed by the media.

The manner in which he killed the humans was something that not many people alive knew, but it brought a lot of attention from the media. Every time he heard a silent, whispered conversation about how the murders were growing more and more perplexing, his lips would turn up in a smirk. If only they knew…

His eyes twinkled in the starlight, as he looked over to her, his eyes coy.

"Amazing, that just a human will be the only thing to take Tezuka down." He put his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes, a small smile growing on his face, revealing gleaming, white canines. "The traitor will pay."


	9. Chapter Eight MEMORIES

Oh my god! This took me so long! The next one won't take me so long, I hope, but it might. I have events for band occupying me almost every weekend and an up-and-coming trip-tour for it. With practices and school and exams and essays it makes it so hard to update, and it sounds like a horrid excuse, I know, but it is.

o.0 This actually connects to the first chapter a little. And there's symbolism. Yay, symbolism!

Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to the respective owner. Konomi Takeshi owns copyright to the original characters; I'm only borrowing them for a while. Adversely, this story's universe and any original characters are mine, unless otherwise mentioned.

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**Chapter Eight **_**Memories**_

_-Fuji-_

_The past_

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"_Everything beautiful has its moment and then passes away" – Cernuda y Bidon_

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Fuji watched the beautiful colors of the day, dulled and blurred, as, in the foreground, a beautiful butterfly landed on the arch of his finger. It's blue-green wings, dotted with black fluttered before his eyes, so delicate and patterned. Today was a breezy day, though the wind was weighted down and sluggish with thick, layered humidity. Within the air a slight chill had begun to creep through. Autumn was coming, after all. He was surprised that even at this time of year, there were still a few butterflies around here. This one was especially pretty. Usually, though, the beautiful and delicate ones were the first ones to die off with the coming of the cold. This one, a single survivor, was lucky. 

With his pencil he sketched the lovely form of the insect in such a manner that one could have imagined that it was brazened by sun and honeysuckle rather than gray skies and the damp scent that lingered in the atmosphere. Fuji was in an awkward position when he drew; his one arm was extended and the other was bent uncomfortably. His head leaned on a strange angle so that he could keep an eye on both the butterfly and his sketchbook. All the butterfly did was sit there, with its wings moving back and forth slowly. It crawled up the back of his free hand where it had landed only a moment ago.

There was no sure way to tell when Fuji had acquired an almost morbid obsession with butterflies, beautiful creatures that had before now slipped past his gaze easily. The creature looked out of place, a stark contrast to the stormy brew of sky forming above and blocking out all sunlight. His nose took in the scent of the warm, damp atmosphere with contempt.

Somehow, it was very pleasant seeing such beauty among all that was unwanted and dark. Perhaps, though, he should have felt sorry for the butterfly. If it poured enough, the butterfly's wings would be ruined and it would die. His lips, pressed in a strange, uncharacteristic look paused above the butterfly, contemplating it. He should have felt regret that such a beautiful thing would soon be sacrificed to the full, unforgiving wrath of the sky. That was life, though. Beautiful things could not last forever. At a time, everything had to die, didn't it? That was a tragic fact. Maybe that was why he sought to immortalize the beauty of the creature on paper. His pencil paid no tribute to its beauty.

"What's the look for, Fuji?"

The beautiful took off in the opposite direction at the sudden voice, and Fuji hadn't even finished his drawing. Sitting up, Fuji sighed in exasperation. "Atobe, you scared it away," he stated. His tone, calm as it was, didn't suit the situation at all. There wasn't exactly disappointment. He shouldn't have been, after all. He did not mourn the loss of the beautiful. His tone reflected empty absentmindedness that was as breezy as the wind that picked up loose strands of hair that kept his hair messy, and in his face constantly. The tiny girl who had been sitting in his lap spoke up when he said that.

"Shuusuke was drawing the butterfly," she told him with a slight pout, averting her eyes. "He wasn't done! It was so pretty, too." Atobe shrugged slightly in apathy. Her disdain to the fact that he had frightened away such a tiny creature was beyond his capacity of concern. The lines were transforming to the beautiful outline, but it still didn't capture the form correctly. The lines were haphazard, and even sketchier than usual. They were reflecting Fuji's thoughts, messed up and blended into a confusing mix. Fuji nodded in agreement to the little girl's statement.

Atobe still didn't seem to care. In his mind, it probably wouldn't have mattered if the butterfly were crushed, though he may have commented on the shame of it. The butterfly, though was only a mere being compared to the 'Great Atobe'. Fuji rested his chin on his palm a yawned, the shivers of fatigue passing through him. Anna was tugging at him worriedly, making small exclamations. "Shuusuke needs a nap!" She rested her head on his chest, then, pressing her nose into his shirt, she muttered unintelligible, scrambled words while he looked absentmindedly off in the other direction, not seeming to notice that she was speaking. "Shuusuke."

He picked up the little girl and set her on the ground, giving her a smile, even though it was rather worn from fatigue. So, it was true. For the past few nights he hadn't been sleeping, but rather adopting Tezuka's nocturnal habits. On weekends it usually worked just fine, because he was able to sleep in, but during the school week it was horrible.

Fuji picked up the small girl as the wind blew, forbidding him to lift his head and pray for it not to rain. His smile, unconvincing, was worn from true fatigue. So, maybe it was true. His sleeping habits had slowly, ever so slowly begun to degrade ever since he had met Tezuka. For the past three or for weeks he seemed to be taking upon himself Tezuka's nocturnal habits. On weekends, the habits faded into mornings where he could sleep in for a good amount of time, and would later startle a worried mother by stumbling out of bed by late evening and helping her by cooking dinner.

"Shuusuke, I want you to tell me if you're ill or if you haven't been able to sleep. Is there something wrong? Do I need to bring up the issue with your mother?"

The words had become jaded deeply inside his heart like a horrible, unwanted inscription. He didn't want his mother to worry, no he didn't. She would begin to question him if she found out that he was falling asleep in school. In fact, she would disapprove wholeheartedly about it and probably bring up the matter to his father, who was far stricter when it came to his education.

His teacher had talked to him about that last week, exasperated after he had fallen asleep in his calculus question for the fifth time in three weeks. The teacher hurried him out, his face growing purple from annoyance, and then had a long and impatient conversation with Fuji that prodded at his heart numerous times. Fuji only smiled and lied through his teeth; lying, for Fuji, was easy enough to do, though he had to hold back laughter. With the serious expression on his face, his teacher had looked almost exactly like Tezuka. This was about the range of Tezuka's emotions; he was either emotionless, or a rock. Tezuka never seemed to get angry; he only shook his head at things he was upset by.

"Shuusuke!" Anna seemed so stricken by her worry that she was tugging on his arm mindlessly, whining like many children did. Her eyes, large and dull were unblinking. "Are you okay? Are you sick?" Fuji blinked slightly as fatigue crept past his eyelids, bidding them to close for only a minute, if only a moment. Even when his head was weighted down by the heavy feeling of exhaustion he was able to feel the cool brush as Atobe's eyes turned on him, seeming to be genuinely curious as to the cause of Fuji's lethargy. Fuji wasn't usually this tired, even alongside his recent change in sleeping habits. Anna's words were reaching his brain slowly, and his mind was sluggish. It took him another minute to think and actually respond.

"Go play in the sandbox. I'll be over there in a minute." Anna nodded slightly, though hesitant. Slowly, she skipped off in the direction of which he had asked her to go, but her movements were slow and deliberate. Here eyes were stricken into an odd expression. Perhaps, he thought, it was because she was still worried about the events nearly four moths ago, when they had jumped out at her. Even now, she was reluctant to leave Fuji's immediate presence. From a distance, her image melted with the other colors, but clearly distinctive among her features was a quivering lip and frightened eyes. She went to go dig holes in the sandbox. While he watched her, the events crawling along like the boring drawl of a movie, Atobe stared at him, seeming to be more interested in his lethargy than Anna's odd fears.

"You're tired today," he stated with a creepy sort of accuracy, even though it had been obvious from the start. Fuji dodged and parried the attack well, adding in his own strike with his next answer, something that he knew wouldn't satisfy Atobe in the slightest. He knew that it annoyed Atobe when he did such things, but it was all too warm of a pleasure when it spread through his chest, and it was very pleasant to be feeling something other than absolute exhaustion, to the point where his legs grew so heavy that he thought it was too dangerous to try and stand up, for fear of collapsing. The breeze was too cool, he thought to himself. He tried to catch his words and keep them, but Atobe had the advantage of a full night's sleep, whereas Fuji did not.

"I didn't sleep well last night, with all the storms. Surely, you know how badly it has been raining, Atobe." The mix of lies created an acidic tingle on his tongue that taunted him. Weeks ago, there had been a very strong storm. After that, the downpours had become more and more frequent. While this long, unending line of storms blew through, they had created a good deal of ruckus, flooding in the lower parts of the city, and amazing amounts of lost sleep for many citizens. Every few nights, lightning would decorate his worm in a colorful show of lights. On the nights that he didn't see Tezuka, he wondered where the man went in such horrid weather, as he lied in bed trying without success to sleep. These worries were not fleeting, but stuck with him like a pungent sting to his heart.

"Don't try and lie to me, Fuji. You know that I have incredible insight." His voice spoke of incredulous things, but he spoke in a tone that stated he was being just as serious, icily serious. Sometimes, it amused him, and he gave the boy a bemused expression and leaned forward just a little, inclining his head to match the angle of his back to the table. The amusement whittled away in a breeze of fatigue, heavy and dizzying.

"Anna-chan needs me for now. I'm supposed to be watching her, after all." He was very skillful at aversion. Anna was, indeed waiting for him to come over. She stood on her tiptoes and waved her hand in the air like she was in school, trying to get her teacher's attention. Putting his hand to his mouth for a moment, Fuji lowered his gaze; Atobe tilted his head, in expectation that Fuji was going to deal out answers, as if the were always free.

"Don't avoid the subject!" Atobe said sharply. The wind, though, caught Atobe's words as Fuji walked away, and by the time that wind reached his ear the words long since spoken were so garbled that he could barely hear them at all. His eyes paused only slightly over the man, who looked very annoyed that he was being ignored. After all, there weren't many people who dared to ignore him in such a casual manner.

When he reached Anna, she automatically ran to him, and latched onto his leg with a grip rivaling the strength of many girls older and stronger than she. Her whimpers, soft and muffled, cooled the air that carried to brush against his cheek. Partially, his gaze turned to the sky as if he was praying for the rain, though in essence it would have done them an inconvenience considering that he had Anna with him. Today, though, was one of the only days that he actually had an umbrella with him.

Well, Atobe always brought his umbrella with him, because he possessed a strong and uncharacteristic dislike for the forces of nature, and would have been furious to be soaked to by the rain. Fuji, though he generally held apathy for soaking in rainstorms, had infection-prone Anna with him today. At the point of her therapy, her immune system was slowly growing less and less stable. She, unlike Atobe or Fuji, could easily catch an illness from getting so wet. Already, a worried mind could easily point out that she was thinner, paler, and her hair wasn't as thick. Her red hair, which seemed slightly faded didn't pick up in the breeze. Fuji's eyes would lower in concern, but then took a turn. He didn't doubt the young girl's ability to recover. After all, he had when he was younger, and after years he had been lucky enough not to go into relapse. It was slightly worrisome, though, that when he ran his fingers through her hair that her hair sometimes fell out. It was common among cancer patients, yes, but it made Fuji's heartache with memories from his own childhood.

"Don't you want to play in the sandbox?" Anna had always coveted being able to play in the sand, whether it happened to be in the sandbox or at the beach on the weekend. She valued being able to enjoy her time there and create her own worlds, giggling and giving them innocent names. Today, however, she could only press her face harder into his leg and shake her head in a solemn answer. Fuji paused and detached her from her leg, and then bent down to brush some thin, faded hair from her face.

"Why are you so scared?"

Even now, around Fuji, her clear, light eyes became pools of fear while she clung to him as if she whished to seek comfort in his light, breezy, eternal smile. He wasn't the type of person, who was usually good with small children, but she knew him, and he knew her. She expected him to be able to provide some words of comfort. Her usually sating white cheeks grew to a flushed pink when she buried her face in the fabric of his pants. Her speech was impartial, and not very clear at all.

"Mister…" Her struggle with her own words for quite a few moments was almost remarkable. "That guy… he isn't here…" The gentle tone was filled with fear. Fuji picked her up and she laid her head on his chest tiredly. "What if they hurt you again?" He could feel the minute trembles that ran through her body, making his heart flutter worryingly. He tried to imagine what his mother would have said to comfort, but it didn't seem to work.

"Tezuka?" He could feel every one of her moments, because she tried so hard to keep close to him, almost to the point of it being suffocating. She nodded, her large eyes closed. "Anna-chan, I'll be fine. Nobody is going to hurt you." Now, he said _'you'_ specifically, purposely. Surely, Anna was more scared for herself than she was for him. She was only a little girl, who couldn't manage her own speech. She must have been worried about that dark night, the darkness that crept into his heart, suffocating him. She must have remembered with clear, vivid details who the two men had ambushed them and thrown Fuji against a tree. They had been so rough with her, callous and cruel. She'd only been trying to help him, and she was kicked aside like a rag doll. That probably pained her more than anything, and scared her with dark fear deep down. Fuji hadn't been hurt; Anna had.

"He can't make them go away anymore!" Fuji was curious; he had never heard her voice rise like that. She was nearly shouting, and the wind around them grew to be a roar. Fuji felt dizzy, so, so dizzy; he couldn't breathe anymore. "They're mean and scary! I… I don't want to see them anymore, Fuji." She cradled her own head in her hands, shaking it. Fuji's smile grew gentler.

His guesses would have been accurate, if Fuji were to try and get the idea of where exactly the subject was going; still, though, it took him honestly and completely that she was trying so hard to just go home, because she had trusted Tezuka so much in regards to safety that she considered him to have protected Fuji. How had Tezuka left such a lasting impression on her that she wasn't able to let go of the fact that something bad had happened months ago. His lips tested the tense air, but he decided that it was better if he took measures to make sure that the delicate girl didn't have a panic attack.

"Please!" Her pleas grew more and more consistent, trying desperately to convince him.

"Alright then, Anna-chan. I'll take you home if that's what you want." She seemed overly satisfied, nodded into her chest, and allowed Fuji to set her back on the ground. Fuji went back over to the area where Atobe sulked. Picking up his notebook, the wind whispered in his ears, asking him to have Atobe follow them. He motioned for Atobe to stand, and then picked up his umbrella. Perhaps it was a good idea that he opened the umbrella. The surprise of rain in a few minutes wouldn't have been a shock at all.

"Where are you going?" Atobe straightened his back, only a little.

"Anna-chan wants to go home. Now, if you want to come, I'm leaving now." Fuji walked onwards while Anna clung to his hand without checking to see if Atobe was going to follow behind him or not. Really, he wouldn't have cared, in fact. At Anna's mentioning of Tezuka, a warm feeling had crept through his cheeks, and he decided that it would be best that he took Anna home.

Maybe, if he had time before his curfew, he would go back to that old house to see Tezuka tonight, maybe Tezuka would answer if he went up to the door and just knocked. Nursing his heart while away from Tezuka seemed to be a difficult thing to do; his mind always grew clearer around the man, but even then he wasn't sure why he kept going back, what invisible ties were binding them together tighter and tighter after each meeting. Thunder clapped, and the sound of Atobe's footsteps caught up to his ears. By the time the pelting rain reached the ground, Atobe also had his umbrella out. The rain was a beauty of its own. It hit and rebounded against the pavement, kicking up a soft, eerie mist. It soaked the damp, chilly air with more moisture. Anna's breath formed clouds in the rapidly cooling air.

"Fuji!" Atobe's voice called to him over the roar of the rain, echoing in his ears and causing him to pause and spare a glance backwards. "Fuji, I'm going back home. I'll see you in school." Fuji nodded to him, but that's all he would allow. Standing there, Anna's grip on his hand grew icily cold, chilling him even more than the air. She was being unusually clingy tonight, and it was probably because she wanted, longed, needed to be home. She would nuzzle his hand gently while she shivered. Even now, in long sleeves he had to admit that the temperature was desolate, fleeting through him chillingly. Atobe's home was only a few minutes away, so that explained why he left. There must have been something wrong, though, because usually in such weather Atobe offered Fuji a ride. He had a limo on call, Atobe often called walking 'transportation for commoners.' Fuji found nothing wrong with it; all his life, he had walked a lot of places and took public transportation, but Atobe abhorred the bus, the train, and anything having to do with the public. He found such things dirty.

Anna tugged his hand desperately.

"Shuusuke?" Her voice trembled and wavered, lost and forgotten in the wind. She hugged his arm, clinging to it.

"Don't worry, Anna-chan, we're going home. I promise you that we'll be there in a minute." His footsteps were deafening among the pounding rain, the chilling air that sent warmth creeping through his chest, twisting like a lovely vine and enrapturing his heart. His head moved down to look at Anna, his bangs sweeping his chin. It sometimes hurt, this warmth, but today, it was a pleasant, light feeling that fluttered through his chest, reaching heights like a bird. Anna kept holding onto his hand, pressing her cheek into the back of it. Fuji's eyes, however, slowly traveled to the alleyway.

It had taken him only a moment to realize they were being followed, and with silent reverence he observed this follower that had chosen to lurk in the shadows, with no distinctive features. He wore dark colors and slouched. Sunglasses covered his eyes. Perhaps, why he noticed it was because the man had such odd attire for the day, and the fact that he didn't have an umbrella with him. Fuji stepped up on stairs absentmindedly as he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. Anna's sudden squeal of "Fluffy!" brought him out of it. She stooped down and let go of Fuji's hand to scratch the cat under the chin. For a child, she had, in fact, always been surprisingly gentle with animals. The creature was now in the process of rubbing its chin against his ankle, and Anna was smiling endearingly at it, petting its back.

"Anna-chan, you're probably cold," he said calmly, taking her hand and letting it slide through his. There wasn't much heat it was giving off. "Go inside. I will see you tomorrow." She smiled and gave him a large hug, seeming happier than she had been in a long time.

"Bye, bye!" Fuji opened the door, and she nearly skipped into it. The cat, Fluffy, followed her into the hallway of the apartment complex, and she twisted the knob to one of the first doors on the left, letting herself in. "See you tomorrow, Shuusuke!" She called happily. The voice was like a bell, ringing with recurring redundancy through his head. Sometimes, he could smile at it, and then lean his head against the wall, pressing his fingers onto the surface so that he was balanced. Anna, despite her sweet and shy temperament was difficult to handle. She was full of energy contrary to her illness, and always willing to do something. Yet somehow, she still managed to cling to Fuji at every second that she was with him, out of the fact that she was always so nervous. Fuji wondered exactly why all of that could possibly blend together.

Sometimes, she chattered meaninglessly, but sometimes her words of innocent had so much impact. Anna was truly a little girl in the fact she couldn't even recognize some of the bits of human ideal that resounded within her sentences. She only spoke that way out of innocence, but yet she reflected a life that other humans should have tried to live.

Anna never let her illness down. She attacked everything with all she had, and Fuji respected it. In ways, it was like a very childish version of Tezuka, with more emotion.

It was strange to compare Tezuka to Anna, but he supposed that was the case.

When he had seen Anna into her apartment, he went back reluctantly into the pouring rain; it thundered around him whispering soft stories of the people before, creating a road to the sky and a chorus in the heavens. Fuji watched the lightning for a minute before turning his eyes to the last place that he had seen the strange man who had followed them all the way from the park. Fuji shrugged, carefree and continued to walk. It was getting late, after all, and his mother would be worried soon if he didn't reach home. Considering he was the only one at home at the moment, it would be best not to give her a heart attack. After all, as the eldest son, it was his duty to take care of his mother, especially because of the fact that his father was still on another business trip, this time at a business council in Romania.

Sometimes, though, he couldn't help but knowingly worry her, because of the fact he wanted to stay outside and talk with Tezuka for three more minutes. Cool and calm as those words were, Tezuka voice was like a melody that resounded warmly through his heart.

Tezuka really was an amazing person.

Of fleeting happiness, transient woes, daily worries, and the roar from the rush of the world, Tezuka was a constant, not a variable. He was the rock that would always be there after the storm, something that Fuji could firmly take root to; he couldn't have helped it that over the months, his friendship had begun to grow stronger and stronger with Tezuka. Now the man seemed more or less inclined to stay with him for an hour or so, even if it only meant they were enjoying each other's presence in complete silence. In fact, Tezuka seemed to like it that way.

His heart was plummeting to the bottom of his chest painfully; he heard footsteps, right behind him.

Feet scraping the pavement, he spun suddenly; ready to launch a punch, with dangerous eyes and an even, taunting smile. He didn't have time to. A pair of arms grabbed him roughly. He was flying backwards, his head spinning crazily out of control. Fuji paused, not even aware of who exactly had jumped him so suddenly that the umbrella currently clutched in his grip fell to the ground with clatter, and soaking rain immediately drenched his hair. With his freed hand he aimed a punch in the man's direction, but almost instantaneously a hand collided with his wrist and pushed it down, ever so gently, the fingers resting on his hand for a moment, bidding him to relax his fist. Rainwater, cold and wet, ran chillingly down the sides of his face. His breath came out in clouds.

There were hands resting on his shoulders, hands that seemed unearthly; they radiated the coolness that Fuji only thought to be characteristic of Tezuka. Yet… the man obviously _wasn't _Tezuka at all. Even though he hadn't caught a glimpse of his attacker yet, he knew this roughness was something Tezuka never could have displayed.

He hit the wall suddenly, and it sent a shot of pain that spiked all the way up his back. Fuji winced slightly, but his eyes, open and angry were focused on the man who had captured him, who, a minute later loosened his grip slightly and moved one hand down to clutch his gently, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of Fuji's hand. The emotion in Fuji's eyes didn't change at all. He was still angry, undeniably angry. The roar of the rain faded away until it was only a light background chorus.

"Fuji, is it?" The voice, beautiful and sly, was soft enough to be considered a gentle whisper. It sent shivers down his spine like eerie frost and was enough to hold him there for at least a moment. The hand that wasn't holding Fuji's went up to remove the sunglasses. Fuji had never seen such eyes before; they were a vivid, bright blue, even brighter than his own, contrasting well against pale, flawless skin and dark hair. "Hm?" His cool breath tickled Fuji's ear, and the man proceeded to tangle his hands in Fuji's hair, caressing lightly.

"What do you want?" Fuji's question was blunt and skillful, even though he was currently in a compromising position in which he shouldn't have had the audacity to challenge anything. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, though. That would have just been unlike him. He ignored the purring breath in his ear.

"Nothing, Fuji… I've been watching you for a while now, you know. You're an interesting person." Fuji said nothing, but he didn't seem swayed by the fact that the man was using tricky, artful methods of seduction. Fuji's expression did not change in fascination of the man's beauty. He, in fact, was doing his best not to look at the stormy, captivating depths of the man's eyes, which probably could have been a lethal weapon of their own. The man knew he was captivatingly beautiful, to, and he was trying to wield against Fuji. Fuji resisted, but he couldn't help but get the feeling the man had even a bigger ego than Atobe. He got that sort of aura by the way the man pressed his weight back into the solid wall, breathing softly against cheek.

"Who are you, then?"

The eyes were so absolutely beautiful. They were captivating like Tezuka's, but unlike Tezuka those eyes were some of the most untamable orbs on earth, uncontrolled and wild like deep depths of the jungle. Unrestrained emotions, at the same time controlled, were tempting to delve into.

The wild eyes seemed to be challenging him, and Fuji was managing to stand firm with ease. "You can call me Amery." Fuji swallowed at the sort of tone that he was being given. The man named 'Amery' continued onwards. "I actually have come to warn you about something, though." His fingers touched Fuji's cheek, and roughly, Fuji shoved the arm away.

"I have to warn you about Tezuka,"

"Tezuka?" Fuji asked sharply. "How do you know about Tezuka?" The roar of the rain continued to pound his ears, giving him a headache. The rain pelted his skin like bullets and weighted down his clothes water. Chill crept to the very core of his bone, settling to his inner core.

The man chuckled softly, and it grew into a fluent laugh, reflecting a sort of craze that almost frightened Fuji. It's insanity sent cold throughout his body that could have made Amery's freezing hands seem like the warmest thing on the planet. He again laid the back of his hand against Fuji's cheek, uncurling the fingers ever so gently. The back of his hand again radiated no warmth. It felt like he was touching Fuji's cheek with ice. Unconsciously, he shivered. The laughs ceased, and he grew more serious.

"Tezuka is a traitor," he told Fuji smoothly. "And I have come to warn you that he will betray you as well." The hand that held Fuji's gave his fingers a light squeeze. "He will betray you and leave you in tatters. He _will _kill you, Fuji." Fuji's heart could have stopped, at the way those words held such sudden finality in them.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it would be a shame to see such a pretty face fall to Tezuka's deceit. Tezuka will tear you apart. He doesn't care, Fuji. That's his way; he seduces and then kills. Your death will be a painful one, Fuji. Don't allow yourself to be fooled." The man took a step away from Fuji so that the boy could stand straight, but he was pulled into strong arms, unwillingly. There was something wrong with the manner in which the man spoke to him. It all felt like a lie. Seducing didn't seem like something Tezuka would do; the man's entire personality and morals defied the idea.

"_Morals have no matter in Tezuka's situation."_

He was trying to convince Fuji of something, but everything he said seemed like blatant contradiction.

"You want something of me," Fuji noted calmly, being able to detect ulterior motives. "Don't try and seduce me into it. I'm not a fool." The embrace cold as ice, like the rain around him; the water that slid down the curves and angles on his face, clinging to his eyelashes, lingering on his freezing lips.

"Mm, you are rather smart, Fuji, but I do truly care to see for your well-being. Otherwise I wouldn't have approached you. We can do it, Fuji. You can help me create Tezuka's downfall. Together, we can defeat Tezuka. We can stop him from killing more innocents, and then I will take care of you forever. _Forever. _We can be together, and I will give you eternal life" Fuji pulled away from Amery suddenly, by punching the man's stomach harshly. Amery coughed, but even then it was filled with a grace that couldn't be considered human.

"I can take care of myself," Fuji answered coolly.

"I don't doubt that," Somehow it sounded like he was only granting Fuji that one thing. "Wouldn't you like being able to not have to worry about your own safety, though, for once? Wouldn't you like to live an ideal life? I can give you anything that you want, Fuji. Together, we'll create a legend."

Fuji's eyes were still sharp and unconvinced. Perhaps that was the frustrating thing about Fuji; he was fiercely independent. He really didn't _need_ protection, and he felt that if he were ever going to be immortalized as a legend, he would do it alone.

He took a step closer to the boy and slid a hairclip into his hair. Fuji blinked. "Take it as a parting gift. Should you ever need my help with Tezuka, I will be there." He chuckled again and ran his fingers across Fuji's cheek once more, laughing fluidly. The scent of blood mingled in the air when the man's face was close to his, and Fuji paused. It was just like Tezuka, wasn't it? The scent of blood was pungent and metallic to his nose, yet oddly sweet. It was stronger than Tezuka's but it wasn't so strong that it was enough to make him swoon from the very scent. How strange… "All you need is to turn to me, and I will solve all your problems. I'll make all your pain vanish."

Fuji couldn't understand.

"Such warmth," he commented. Fuji was only able to blink. Sometimes, these things didn't seem to make sense at all.

"Such tragic beauty… isn't a shame when it fades? It's _tragically beautiful._"

Fuji's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes slowly widened He must've been standing there with his eyes wide and gaping, so much that it was shocking. "What?" His question turned sharply around the corner, and was more of an exclamation.

"Tragically beautiful… like you…"

"Amery!" Fuji was growing frustrated by the moment, but he was given no answer to his questions.

_Tragically beautiful like you… _

_Like you…_

_Beautiful, astoundingly, breathtakingly beautiful…_

Amery picked up the fallen umbrella, pushed it into Fuji's hands, and turned on his heels. "I'll see you later, Fuji." Fuji watched the man's retreating form in shock, and then touched the hairclip holding some of his wet bangs back, wondering what exactly it meant. Fuji took a step in the other direction and realized that for the entire time, his heart had been pounding out of control

* * *

**Question for the Reviewers: **I've been sketching out everything more for this story, and it's coming to get a clearer image in my head. I do, however, need your input on a rather important aspect: I'd like to say 'smut', but that isn't quite a term for it. Rather… it's just something err… sex-ish. Or a very light lemon… 

My question to you is that I need to know if you want me to include this. I've already got a basic outline of that sort of chapter. I know that if I write anything of that nature it'll be a lot more watered down than most people's but I'm still hesitant to include it. Should I?

And I'd also like to be willing to know if somebody would be willing to beta said chapter for me. I want to make sure it's not so horrid it burns people's eyes out.

Please let me know via PM or review. (I'm sorry for the long rant: I know it's troublesome.)


	10. Chapter Nine DREAMS

Here is the chapter!

I'm sorry this took so long, but I've been so busy. However, I'd like to thank a vital person who helped me out so much with all the help for this chapter. **Eternal.Angel**, give her your many many thanks! I'd love to thank her for being my beta this chapter! She was really helpful with everything, and her patience with my horrible grammar in general is very appreciated, and she is the main reason why I could release this, today!

Happy Halloween to you all! I hope that the length of this may make up for my long absence.

**Disclaimer: **All disclaimers apply. All characters not of my own creation are credited to Konomi Takeshi. I'm only borrowing the characters.

* * *

** Chapter Ten DREAMS**  
_-Tezuka-  
The Past_

"_Kunimitsu,"_ _The voice called softly to him, darting past his ears gently like the wind. At this, which in any other situation he would not have spared patience for, he easily turned his head against it, as if the gesture was completely accepted into conscience. Standing next to him was the fine, slender outline of a beautiful woman, standing tolerantly at his side. He barely batted an eyebrow towards him as she set a tray next to him on the desk, the metal hitting wood with a low sound that Tezuka's ears only caught. On it was a cup, a draught of the woman's own preparation. _

_The dim candlelight made its way well across his room, casting an ethereal glow on her delicate face and eyes. She set a cup next to him and withdrew slightly with the metal tray in hand. Her feet made the floorboards creak, and perhaps for a minute, he thought of ordering her to sleep, well, not ordering. Asking._ _His fingers touched inside his pocket and he took out a pocket watch. The time read well past midnight. He then tuned his eyes to the cup, pocketed his watch, and frowned. _

_The draught was piteous in his opinion, one that had been of her preparation. Of course, he had been the one who had decided that an alternative was to be found. She only happily complied by compiling this draught that she prepared for him once every few days. This was not nearly as satisfying as what his food source had been for the past few months, her blood. The woman was tolerant and strong, but he no longer wanted to take the vitality from the young woman's life, even if she was more than willing to give it. Perhaps, he would think to himself as he sipped the foul-tasting liquid, he would be able to tolerate this taste, if it was only for her. _

_On any other night, she would have asked him to withdraw from his work for a half an hour to go walking on the empty streets, passing the general store and eyeing the glow of the streetlamps. After all, the night was the only time that they could walk together, truly. They came from two different worlds, light and dark, but she had stepped into his world to tangle with him and permanently end his affairs with any other humans. Truly, it had been effective, even when he still sometimes found human blood smeared across his lips. Her thoughts often turned to inviting him outside, away from his current tasks and worries. Instead, tonight she watched him drink. _

_When he did, she seemed happier, for she smiled brightly at him even when she knew she would receive no smile in return. _

_All he needed to know was that this made her happy; if he knew it, he could successfully transition to this without a problem, and she would never offer up her blood to him again. The blood of a woman was so pure and so sweet on his lips, but at the same time it was a sin. He hated hurting countless for his bloodlust that was always so hard to control. Sipping the liquid slowly, he thought of how this, a half-meal was not nearly as satisfying as the real thing. Soon the feeling would be numbed by the knowledge she was at his side, but until then he remained undeniably cold. Human warmth only came with human blood, and due to recent abstinence from his conventional food source, he would find need to assuage his thoughts by lying next to her. _

"_Thank you," he told her as she walked to the doorway. For a moment, she stopped, the fabric of her skirt sweeping her ankles slightly. His head turned at the swish of cloth, and he saw her smiling face, which was so full of life. Calmly, he went back to his task, allowing the pen to scratch across the paper. Meanwhile, the woman did what she did best; she simply observed him while remaining unobtrusive and without comment or burning stare. _

_Her silence was perhaps what was so attractive about her personality. She was prepared to fall well to his side while respecting his reverence for silence. She was never one to push or to pry at his personal matters, and that was how Tezuka preferred it. While their moments of affection were few, they were undeniably sweet. Even now he was resisting the urge to take her by the arm and kiss the soft lips gently, marveling at the face that radiated an elegant, womanly beauty. Even now, his temptation to simply be with her until time ended was overpowering. _

"_It will be dawn soon. You are dedicated Kunimitsu; only you are able to work so diligently. " _

_She was sometimes so silent that he forgot that she was there, and allowed her to melt into a corner while she watched him with remarkable fondness and affection, with patient reverence. She would smile as he melted into writing down thoughts and feelings that couldn't even be read by her, the power of them bleeding into the page and burning it. For her pretty, unscarred eyes, it would have not been appropriate. Eventually, she came to sit beside him and wait for a silent signal that showed she was allowed to lay her cheek on his shoulder, the smallest of smiles touching her lips. _

_After a moment he always looked up slightly from his work, paused as if he feared somebody would be around to see them together, and then reached over to stroke her hair for only a moment. That time was all she needed each day, to lean fully into him and sigh with content. Eventually, his fingers drew back when he was able to track the even breaths, continuing patiently with his current task while she leaned against him; in that moment, he could relax fully and act as if there was no one there. _

_Even when she was most precious to him, he couldn't properly express himself around her, so he left any interpretation to her broad, almost artistic imagination. He often found her sketching the night sky, and in her notebook he, too, found pictures of the daytime sky that appeared foreign to him. They alone were enough to be filled with a certain loneliness that lingered at the depths of his soul darkly. The rest of his thoughts were filled with sunlight, and her. She entranced his mind with each one of the drawings; they were windows into her outlook on life. Everything, even the night sky and the moon were lit up with an enlightened glow, free form the pall radiation of the true darkness at night. In her eyes, was he filled with that same light? He wondered, sometimes. He wondered with apathetic wistfulness if, like she was to him, he was everything to her._

_Head drooping slightly against his shoulder, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut, then reached back and undid the hair tie that kept her hair above her shoulders. It fell lightly past her shoulders now, in the way she generally only kept it when she slept. Her dislike of her long hair was strange; however, her dislike of hair did not bring her to cut it above her shoulders, probably in part because of the fact that Tezuka seemed to prefer it long, and her strict upbringing taught her that it was proper to have longer hair. Her hands tangled past his hair, brushing his temple lightly, and then rested on his opposite shoulder. Woven between her fingers was the black satin ribbon she tied her hair with, usually. Mutely, he looked down on it, and then to the other, who looked weighed down with fatigue. Hesitantly, he took her ribbon-painted hand. Today, it felt cooler to the touch than usual. She dropped the ribbon in his hands while he hesitantly rubbed her palm with his fingertips. At the uncharacteristic gesture, though it wasn't unwanted in part, she closed her eyes and turned her head away. _

"_Are you feeling ill?" _

_Softly, she shook her head; scattering bangs in her face gracefully. "No, I'm just a little tired. I haven't gotten sleep for the past few days." Even when slightly tired, her words were still filled with a poetic tone. _

_Wishing to raise his hand to her chin, he instead looked at her eyes. She blinked back at him, tiredly; in them, a certain light wasn't there, or simply fading with fatigue. Tezuka couldn't figure out which. Perchance, he should have worried more at the uncharacteristic combination of these elements that grew to be a frightening roar within his ears. Her weakness was that she couldn't allow others to worry; she, especially, hated it when he paid her much more attention than a few words daily and a touch on occasion, perhaps a kiss if the mood was favorable. Their relationship consisted of subtle passions woven through their beings. She, on occasion, had been more intimate with him than she had anybody else, but only on the nights when she felt coldest, those nights when she needed to be assured by the rare, almost fearful feeling of his fingers running down her sides. She would withdraw from her characteristic shyness to join him for a single night of unrestrained affections. Their intimacy was fragile, though, only assured by her dependence on him. Whenever his affection grew stronger at strange moments, she began to ponder. Tezuka was not affectionate, and therefore she took his worry as warning and perhaps to assure herself that there was nothing troublesome, she rejected any concern he gave towards the matter and paid little attention to the problem, which most likely ailed her._

_Pausing, Tezuka opened his mouth to taste the cool air, and if detecting a problem, he answered suitably._

"_Perhaps you should," _

_Tezuka was always stern, yet capable of eliciting a small, warm chuckle from her each time he tried to impose strictness upon her. He did not want to, no, couldn't impose demands upon her out of guilt. His characteristic terseness and strict nature were only a primary component of everything. She only followed what he asked of her compliantly, obediently. Somehow, in a way, this was sad, yet suiting for Tezuka. Their relationship was no call for conflict, and she spared him needless worry. Perhaps she knew that his knowledge that she would possibly walk out of the relationship at any moment she fancied was what kept him unbelievably close to her. _

"_I suppose. Will you walk with me?" _

"_If you wish," In his motion of handing the ribbon back to her, she wrapped her fingers around his and stopped the action. Her smile was fatigue-worn, and as dusty as the floor they stood on, but even when all those components were harmful, he found it as a credible gesture. Clutching the black satin ribbon in his hands, he stood, and she gladly took her place about three steps behind him as he headed in the direction of her room. Below them, the floorboards creaked, yet this sound was all too familiar, and he was glad to hear it. She always told him there was a rustic beauty to this home, even though she couldn't have been exactly sure when it was built. They had discovered it abandoned, and in Tezuka's opinion, unwelcoming. The weeds grew to the knees in the yard, and the house was drafty and cold at night, which never affected Tezuka, but worried him about the other's health, even when she insisted that she was fine. She, though, with her strange eye for beauty, couldn't resist the old house. _

_That was something strange about their relationship. Their views were so often different that Tezuka knew little about the reasons a bond between them could survive. She was not his polar opposite, but she often found things beautiful that Tezuka wanted to avoid, and she had a tendency of getting Tezuka into trouble despite her obedient nature. Thrice, she had managed to unintentionally drag Tezuka and herself into a life-threatening and frightening situation. _

_Part of her survival was contributed to luck, and the other, charming wit. She was highly independent considering the era she was born into. Though obedient to Tezuka, it was easy to tell she was able to keep her own thoughts, and never depended solely on men for her own emotional well-being. Of course, she was nowhere near the line of disobedient, but she easily was able to stand her ground against men. Perhaps it wasn't a good thing, though; one time was enough for him to decide that. She tended to misjudge danger, and he would always have to drag her away from it. Naturally, being a woman with not many occupations to find, especially during the day while Tezuka slept, she got bored, and boredom always seemed to lead to something more significant. After all this, their bonds remained placid and close-knit. She preferred being around Tezuka to anyone else and slowly Tezuka had grown to prefer her, with complacent silence. She wasn't weak in mind, but perhaps lacked physical strength. She rarely found need to resist opposing forces, and when she did she seemed to be too overtaken to rationally deal with them; Tezuka seemed, though, that he was willing to give her protection when that happened, and her preference for him grew._

_At the door, she pushed it open silently, which was the only time she chose to walk ahead of him. In the darkness her face shown through the best to Tezuka's acute eyesight, and she looked somewhat paler. Somehow, the fact that her hair was down rather than tied up made her look smaller and frailer. As if he half-expected that she would break anytime soon, he stayed near her adhering as if she was as easy to break as a thin sheet of glass. Surely, she was stronger than that; her pale, colorless cheeks told a different story though. _

_Seeming contented with his choice to remain, she went to the dresser and opened up the music box that sat there, humming ever so softly while unclipping the necklace she wore around her neck, to it affixed a simple ring that Tezuka had given her. The piece of jewelry glimmered strangely across the room even in darkness, and the eerie melody of her soft singing drifted to his ears. By any means, she was not an extremely talented singer, but she had the voice of a woman, the voice that was free from any roughness or sharp tonal differences that might have made the song unpleasant to the ear. She sang the rehearsed lyrics with years of knowledge behind them, and that was perhaps the only reason why the melody came out so beautifully and in unison with the soft and gentle music that accompanied her. _

"_I thought you agreed to sleep," he noted after the entrancing melody ended. _

"_I will, after I change into a nightgown." _

_At the time, Tezuka usually spared his gaze in a polite, courteous gesture to her, in order to give her more privacy. She always changed with her back facing him, but still then he could sense that, like most women, she wanted privacy. To her, a show of skin was something very intimate, and was not something she enjoyed. He knew very well that if he touched her then, she would tremble slightly under his touch. She enjoyed not having to feel the brush a gaze burning into the back of her neck. That single thing, Tezuka knew, was enough to make her cheeks redden slightly as if in embarrassment. Of course, they had their moments, but without that passion, she turned away from him, head lowered as if her uncovered shoulders were a shame. Before he turned his eyes politely away, he silently observed. Her shoulders always had a delicate curve to them, but today there was a small difference in her elegant form; somehow, she only seemed slightly more fragile. At the worrisome discovery, he frowned, but the realized she had noticed his gaze and had huddled closer to the corner. She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes glowed, but underneath the layer was slight worry. Her eyes told him everything; his gaze was too intense, perhaps. Sparing the woman some privacy, he turned his eyes away. _

"_Are you sure you aren't ill?"_

_Straightening the material of the nightgown, she turned and smiled as if his question had been nothing but a gust of wind, unpleasant to her ears. However, her silence was unusual this time; he wasn't unaccustomed to this type of quiet that ran over the atmosphere awkwardly, as if she was intentionally keeping something from him. Behind his spectacles, his eyes became glowing fire that bade her for answers that she dared not procure. The nightgown only revealed her ribs slightly, and he wondered if she had been eating. There was a kind neighbor only a ways off by the name of Kikumaru, and he was more than happy to provide her with food. He, and one of his best friends were the most charitable people in the area. Tezuka rarely spoke with Kikumaru, but perhaps if she insisted on remaining silent, he would become his source for answers. Unexpectedly, though, she gave him the words that he wished, but not in a tone that satisfied the unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right. _

"_Kunimitsu, it isn't that I'm ill." _

_She was being unusually clingy tonight, as if there was something deathly wrong. Hair sweeping her shoulders, she made her way over to where the man sat on the bed. He tore his eyes away from the pure white nightgown that only seemed impure to him, and unsatisfying to his burning eyes, which protested to him that keep his gaze unblinking and intense to earn the answers that he believed to rightfully deserve. She was, after all, living with him. He cared for her in all the ways he could, so in part, he deserved to know what was wrong. The woman, however, fumbled with her words in difficulty. Sitting next to him, she dared not lean her cheek against his shoulder again, but allowed herself to give into the temptation of running a hand against his strong arm. _

"_Tell me what it is," He then spoke her name sternly, which was his warning that he did not like having secrets kept from him. Indeed, his tone grew slightly stricter than usual, and the closest thing to an order that he would ever get. "You have grown thinner. There is something wrong." She gave a glimmering, sad smile that glowed like sunlight even in darkness, yet at the same time made him directly upset. _

"_I went to see a doctor about it today," Her blustery voice grew a little softer and lacked the grace that she spoke with earlier. Unable to find words he watched as the other slowly worked out a way to tell him, perhaps by placing a hand rightfully at his shoulder and brushing her nose against his neck. The warm skin against his made his senses prickle slightly, but his heart was weighed down with concern and wasn't lifted when she nuzzled against him sweetly. "He told me that I am slightly ill, but he is certain that it is because of a child." At this, Tezuka only blinked. _

"_A child?" _

"_Kunimitsu…" the manner in which she spoke hit him with the force of a ton of lead, and all he could do was blink, while she looked at him with plain expectation, waiting with baited breath for his reaction. As if he was trying to compose himself for the moment, he ran his hands through his hair in question. The news was really quite exasperating, and the knowledge weighted his chest down strangely. He wasn't even sure if he could draw breath. _

"_I didn't know that was possible."_

"_Neither did I."_

_As if she expected another type of reaction, other than shock, she waited with softly glowing eyes, hoping to see some sort of expression that showed the positive. Surely, for this small thing, he would not cast her out? Time and time again he treated her in the tenderest way possible, and cared very greatly for her. If their bonds didn't go beyond the realms of physical attraction, her heart probably would have broken. What was she supposed to have from him? Approval? Happiness? Why should she have expected a positive reaction from the obviously shocked man when she herself couldn't even understand how such a fate came about? In their knowledge, there had never been an instance of any rendezvous between a vampire and a human producing a child. No, this was the first that Tezuka had ever heard of it. _

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Even if the doctor didn't know…I can feel it myself. I've been worried about it, Kunimitsu. My dreams, though… I had to be sure." There she was, sitting there with the saddest look on her face; the expression radiated shame. Her parents may have been dead, but she was bringing misfortune and shame upon their memories in her very relationship with Tezuka. The man knew, for he could see the look in her eyes that told him that she was ashamed of bringing such disgrace to her very name. She was not in an honorable marriage, and the child was a result of a forbidden and unconventional relationship between monster and human. Even through all this shame and her sadness, he felt a pang in her heart for her, with her eyes that shone with clear tears from fear of abandonment. _

_There was his answer to why she had previously been so clingy, yet his own brain could not process the belief. Maybe once, when he was human, he had thought of children easily. One day, if he had remained human, it would have been practical to marry and have children. Their situation was strange, though, yet with radiating beauty and grace. All Tezuka could see in his future was her, not a child. Right now she looked so fragile that she might not have been easily carrying a child. If she were weak right now, what would it be in a few months? What would Tezuka do if she got sick? Tezuka was, in all meanings of the word, dead. He didn't even know if the charity Kikumaru offered her extended beyond the realms of giving her food. Besides, caring for a child was not a burden he could knowingly put on another man. _

_There were families, fabled by the vampire community. They knew of vampires, yes, but unlike hunters, they reveled in the vampires' beings. Tezuka would have paid little tribute to them if it hadn't been for the small fact that they offered jobs to vampires as bodyguards. Little was important about this, save for the fact that this one chance at a paying job was the closest thing Tezuka had to being able to support a family. _

_However, with a child and a female, human companion, the risks were too numerous. He could not seek that opportunity. _

_He did not no what a child who was half-blooded would be like; the risks were innumerable. As she was clearly not sure as well, he didn't know what to ask, or what to say. Her eyes were wide and gaping at him, almost frightened; beneath the orbs were violently brewing emotions and fears. From this situation spawned sudden, instinctive fear that Tezuka would grow angry and pin her to the bed with uncharacteristic roughness. The scenes played about sickeningly behind her eyes, and she almost backed away from the other, wanting to suddenly get as far away as possible from the man. Yet, at the same time, her desperation begged her to stay near him and seek his gentle touch. Beneath her trembling fright was her trust for the man she loved. She was too obedient to move, but her adrenaline kept her from doing anything other than blinking. Tezuka seemed only just to realize that her shock that made her heart pound was beginning to through her into a nervous breakdown. Her interpretation of Tezuka's lack of an answer was simple; he disapproved. _

_Deeply, truly, she never wanted Tezuka to disapprove of her. Never. _

"_If you are having a child, and the child is mind, I will accept it." _

_As if it was long-drawn to speak, and played in slow motion, the meaning at first didn't really hit her. Instead she sat there giving him a strange bug-eyed look that infringed her radiating beauty that was so admirable even on the darkest of nights. Ever so slowly, he could watch as the meaning slowly began to take its effect, and like the tearing joy that sped through her heart at the sudden realization that she wasn't going to be abandoned, a smile raced across her face, making the other's heart flutter at the brightness it reflected. At her joy, she nearly threw her arms around his neck, though she had enough self-control to know otherwise. _

_She, amazingly, was the one thing that could make his heart speed like that. When she smiled, he felt each time as if a bit of his humanity was brought back with accompanying warmth. Years from now, on the darkest of cold nights, perhaps these memories would be what kept him from falling as a victim to biting, laughing insanity. Her earthly haven was the only thing he had left to indulge in. A child would not change it. _

_In ways, it was beautiful. For, he never knew that his intimacy would lead to a child. Like a legal, binding contract, they were together as a father and a mother, and it was undeniable that the idea of being a father didn't pique his interest at least for a millisecond. For Tezuka, the very meaning of the word was amazing. He, who had condemned himself to living death the day he chose to take a shortcut on the way home had given up everything having to do with a normal life. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lost the human part of himself in the process. Each ruthless kill, each feeding was only what made the monster in him live. So significant, that when he met the true human beauty one day, he found it fitting to wait for only a while before choosing the right moment to pounce. _

_Her beauty had been captivating, but her personality even more so. For a long time Tezuka nearly stalked from afar, noting almost every aspect of her personality while mapping every nook and cranny of her strengths and weaknesses, he had in turn brought only more interest to the woman living an unusual lifestyle; he isolation was similar, yet different to his, and this was what perhaps attracted him most. By the time he finally managed to pull his head out of the clouds and corner her one day, he could no longer bring himself to do her any harm, though perhaps out of pity. She had no parents, no family, not even a husband. She was unmarried, had few friends, and had taken up residence with one of her best friends. _

_Of course, she was by far a beautiful woman, but friendship and a casual appreciation of beauty were two entirely different things. Unless one chose to delve deeper than the surface, she seemed nothing but a stubborn woman who was frightened of her own decisions. Tezuka knew otherwise, but few others did. _

_So, she sought both companionship and love in her relationship by him. The very desire cemented their bonds and slowly took root. She was never quite without him, save for when he slept in the day, or when she slept and duties called him elsewhere. Even when she needed to stay in the corner and remain ignored by Tezuka, she took that option over the idea of being utterly alone. In ways, her deepest fear was that he would one day leave her alone, for even in strength, she secretly feared abandonment and loss. _

_Like the blue sky above, she became the light of his world, and he slowly could not resist her call. Their relationship took time to blossom out of tentative, shy natures coming from both. As soon as it took full bloom, though, the petals were something beyond beautiful. Their relationship was full of trust, full of pure love. Perhaps their love may have been innocent, but Tezuka knew that at best, it was only blind. She was a pure, untainted woman. He, on the other hand, was a monster who had once killed without a second thought. Relationships between monster and beauty weren't supposed to happen. Tezuka was not the fabled 'knight in shining armor'. His being, though once a proud figure with noble morals, had degraded upon his assimilation into the role of a vampire. As always, his kinds were connected with sin. There were fables of good vampires, and fables of bad, but in that world, a whole society existed. Vampires had little more to do with humans than as a source of food. Supposedly, vampires could feel lust, but never love. Their relationship was built on all that was unconventional, and all that every vampire in the world looked down upon. Out of that had come a child, and somehow, Tezuka felt proud even though his position was that of shame. _

_She was a young twenty-two, but he was easily proud of her._

_As the soft melody of the music box faded into the night, it sung her off to sleep with the comfort of Tezuka sitting on the side of the bed, next to her. Tezuka fancied ensuring she was warm. If this child would be a major weakness, Tezuka was ready to take care of her with all his strength. Though her cheeks still appeared as fragile glass, she was having an easier time sleeping and breathing now, so small amounts of color returned there. With the black ribbon still artfully entangled in his fingers, he waited until sleep took her before daring to run fingers gently through her hair. _

_Nobody would tell him that only a few months later, that melody of beauty would sour. Darkly, his fingers touched across her cheek, and his lips enjoyed speaking her name a multitude of times, as if the word brought him the most joy in the world just to simply to speak. Sensations danced warmly across his heart, and for once, Tezuka felt undeniably happy. His heartbeats did not follow the steady pace, which were all too human for him to mimic. For a while he allowed himself to lie beside her and willed himself to listen to that steady, strong beat. The lingering remnants of fear brushed past him slowly—he still feared for her, of course, but the fear was slowly diminishing. She would be fine. Sometimes women got sick in the early stages of pregnancy. She would be fine, like all others, and she would gain the weight back within the course of a month. _

_A child. _

_They would have a child. _

_Though at that moment, he didn't quite smile, there was something that seemed more suiting that came into view. He seemed at least slightly contented by the idea that he would be a father. _

In a warm flash of orange and pink, the sunlight fell to the tightening hold of dusk, and navy spread serenely across the horizon. As the last of twilight faded away to give into the depths of the deep, wild night, Tezuka found his thoughts being pulled unwillingly away from dusty memories that played countless times through his mind. All the actions were rough, worn over by forlorn gestures and words aged by painful time. These scenes enjoyed playing themselves in front of his eyes, and they focused in like a clear-shot camera at the object of his strange, yet strong affections. Even in the passing of many years, so many that insanity drove Tezuka to lose count, her image was forever immortalized like beautiful embroidery on clear white fabric.

Imbued upon his mind was the plague of her lovely face, her smile; slowly, ever so slowly the image had degraded him. Human beauty slowly faded away into the darkness. The tragedy of the beauty was not that it was beautiful, but simply that it could not last forever. His features were different from hers; though his were attractive, they could not be pure beauty. Pure beauty could never be immortal. His face was rough, and his eyes a little too sharp; surely, those features were undeserving of the pure, unharmed beauty of a woman's face. She had only been a simple human, and the only thing that set her apart was her pure loveliness; in a span of time, his love had grown far too dear for him to let go. Young age was the only time of pure beauty to creatures as he; when she grew older, he knew that all this vitality would be drained by cruel time. Surely, she would crumble. He knew this all, but the image of pure beauty still rested in his mind coupled with sad melodies of forlorn emotions.

Tonight, he chose to join at Fuji's side at this park, though it had not been of his free will. As Tezuka withdrew from his daytime prison to greet the night, he met the seventeen-year-old walking down the street with a young girl clinging to his hands and speaking amicably with him. The threads of their conversation had barely reached his ears when Fuji's face glowed with strange light, and he suggested that after taking the young girl home, they spend time together. Before he had time to protest Fuji had cleverly woven a situation for them, and after taking the young girl home Fuji insisted they travel back to the park where Tezuka had originally forbidden Fuji to travel to at night. Of course, the human's subtle, sly techniques were not invisible to his tuned senses, and he was keen enough to sense a red flag. Drawing himself against the rushing tide, he felt that he would be able to resist anything, but Fuji found ways around it. With strange perception, Fuji was able to wield minute weaknesses against him in order reach his whim and desire. Tezuka finally, though feeling dark fatigue and exasperation at the feeling of being defeated, agreed. .

If, perchance, those features matched that personality and Fuji were more like here, it would have been automatic for Tezuka to follow him. Somehow, though, through sly tricks and promises, Fuji managed to bend Tezuka to his request even without the likeness in personality. Somehow, he didn't feel like he minded. Being with Fuji was not nearly calming, but something about the smooth features that flowed smoothly between emotions was somewhat attractive, with a magnetic pull.

Despite his own burning eyes, he did suppose that part of this ordeal was contributed to the likeness in facial features. Fuji's masculine, yet effeminate features were too gentle and remotely reminded him of her. Still, though, it was embarrassing that slowly Fuji managed to drag him back to the forbidden playground through coy persuasion and clever tricks. He knew now that for the next few hours, he would be condemned to watching Fuji as if in obsession while Fuji swung back and forth on the park swings, his feet kicking up a cloud of dust as they scraped the ground. It was late, but Fuji was becoming a master escape artist and defying all curfew hours in the process, he found subtle enjoyment in spending far more time with Tezuka than what could be considered healthy, as if there wasn't the smallest worry in his heart that the knowledge of his late-night antics would give his poor mother a heart attack.

"Tezuka, are you feeling okay?" They soft, youthful face was looking at him; it glowed through the darkness and at it, Tezuka could feel his heart begin to tremble, and then beat with only a slightly more human rhythm. As the memories began to weigh heavily upon him, the face of the most precious person that had ever walked the depths of his heart easily melted into Fuji's expression. At a wave of thoughts, he groaned and had to clench his fists only to repress them.

"Don't be childish, Fuji. I'm fine, but you need to go home." Fuji's warm, rusty chuckle rumbled through the air and the chains on the swing set creaked. When the eerie echo vibrated through the air and met his ears slowly, Tezuka gave a delayed pause. That laugh was so gentle and childish, yet at the same time, it proved that Fuji had knowledge beyond his years. In distaste, Tezuka could have almost turned his nose up at it. If it weren't for Fuji's graceful, androgynous beauty, he wouldn't need to listen to his laugh and ponder on why Fuji seemed to know _everything._

"Ah, Tezuka, you need to learn how to have some fun."

"It will rain soon."

No, it would probably snow. It was certainly cold enough.

Pausing only slightly at Tezuka's strange tone, he only was able to imitate his usual smile at this small, yet calculated gesture. Ever so quietly, he shifted his weight onto his feet and pulled up on the chains of the swings in order to simply meet the blowing wind that had the ability to make weaker men tremble out of weakness. Fuji looked up to the moon silently as its light faded behind the clouds. The glowing stairway leading to the heavens, built out of moonlight and the night stars, faded. Perhaps in a while, Fuji would propose that they would travel back to the rocky cove they had only discovered a week ago. Fuji enjoyed wandering among the rocky shoals, and Tezuka slowly grew to admit that amidst the stresses of daily life, the chance to forget the problems of daily life was more than irresistible; it was addictive. The local murders grew more and more worrisome, and Tezuka hadn't seen nor heard of Wolfe for almost two weeks. Maybe the boy was growing sickly like his father. Forgetting the hunters and the glow of the city lights was easy, and he almost enjoyed that one night when all he had to watch was Fuji as he trailed ahead slightly. From these small moments he knew that one day, Fuji would get into trouble with this beauty, but Tezuka felt that perhaps he could help if he was able to pull him back only the slightest and keep danger away. Even then, Fuji pulled a little ahead of him, and Tezuka, being who he was, couldn't hold Fuji back in those moments that he chose to stray. Fuji lived in the moment, and Tezuka did not. For a person who never took calculated risks as Fuji did, it was fascinating to watch Fuji.

"If it rains, then come home with me. You shouldn't be wandering the streets in the rain either. Doesn't it bet boring walking the same route every night?" In their time together, Fuji had attached himself firmly to Tezuka as if there wasn't anything strange about clinging to another man with all his strength. Quietly. Tezuka found peace within his inner being and grew to be able to ignore it as if Fuji's presence meant nothing to him, and that there was nothing unusual about their sudden friendly bonds. Fuji had pulled him dangerously close, and as the last of his desire for space dissolved, he could no longer keep himself away from the thought of at least friendship with Fuji. Fuji had a certain, wild pheromone that tangled with his senses in the most unusual matter that made their proximity addictive. Of course, he still had the strength to stand against a sudden wave that Fuji created, but his resolve softened towards the boy, strangely. Tezuka no longer had any desire to push Fuji away.

Right, that was probably just the scent of his blood that caused this uncharacteristic reaction.

Fuji was bred among tragic, bloody martyrs by simply remaining that close to Tezuka. Fuji's blood should not have been a sacrifice for the bond between them, but in creeping realization, Tezuka realized that it was what Fuji had given the day he decided to follow behind Tezuka rather than stay with Anna on the doorstep. He knew though that this tragic and fatal gift would never be given tribute, but he also knew that Fuji wasn't stupid. Upon realizing his being, Fuji knew the danger and the sacrifices he had unknowingly set forth on the stage. Whether or not Fuji accepted, he could not tell. All his world had grown into was Fuji, his duties, and the murders. The newspapers were turning out numerous articles about these mysterious articles, and he could only watch as Fuji's opinion developed; he did not know if Fuji thought him the culprit. Sometimes, though, those clear blue eyes asked him if he knew.

Tezuka didn't.

Fuji's smooth assimilation of the role of a bloody martyr had gone silently, without even verbal tribute. Fuji seemed to gladly join him at his side now as if there was nothing to fear. Perhaps he expected from Tezuka the protection he had once bestowed on somebody who he loved more than he thought he could have ever loved. What Fuji wanted was to become Tezuka's _'dearly beloved' _when he clearly was not. Tezuka could not place an exact value on his ties with Fuji, but he knew that deep within Fuji's soul, those fears could be confirmed. Tezuka's uncontrolled, sometimes almost violent actions were not just because Fuji had a pretty face, or special blood. Darkness clouding his eyes, all he could see was the person that Fuji resembled. His desire to leap at the boy and poses the very person that didn't exist was sometimes overpowering.

Being around Fuji was a constant test of his wits. Almost, he grew crazy just being around Fuji.

"Really, Tezuka, I don't know how you have adjusted to living at night so well."

A gust of wind blew past in forlorn hope; winter would be coming soon by sign of the chilling, arctic breeze. Perhaps rather than rain, it would snow. So surprisingly, it snowed in the city, a city that was only about forty minutes from the coast. That pure white would dye the world for a time until it gave way for the more vivid colors of spring. Perhaps, even tonight was favorable for ice crystals to form. By the way Fuji shivered, he knew that it was cold enough. He was firmly desensitized to the breeze but, in traditional fear of being discovered, he wore a jacket to blend in with the crowds. Fuji liked to rebel, and he did not. Almost, Tezuka thought of offering out his coat to the boy, whose face and lips were touched with a light pink from cold. The corners of Fuji's mouth grew red and his lips trembled minutely. Expertly, his eyes tracked each movement with glowing fire, until Fuji's lips shot downwards into a soft frown at such scrutiny.

"When one must live a certain lifestyle, it only takes a time to adjust."

With his calculative eyes, Fuji certainly did not overlook his words.

"I suppose that you've had a long time to get used to it."

This time, Tezuka's lips were the ones to pull downwards with the weight of the world touching upon them painfully, and as the atmosphere seemed to lighten up, Fuji was the one smiling beautifully. As if the sweet melody had been a challenge, he could only frown more as gravity spun around him, and he turned instinctively away trying to think of the delicate, glasslike beauty of his memories that slid leisurely across thin ice. One touch, only one would break everything he had worked for, the years of anguish that he had endured to become a stronger, better person. At that moment, he could only think about how it was better not to love, and to ignore that tragic beauty dancing under his nose. Tezuka was old and weathered, youthful yet wise. All memories were built upon his solid foundation.

"That sounds very much like you, Tezuka,"

There was a warm chuckle when Fuji put his fingers up to his mouth, brushing his hair gracefully from his face and staring at Tezuka with strange, yet friendly compassion. Fuji, with his intelligent, witty ways, liked to converse fluently and uncover true beauty like many humans wished for.

Coldly, he thought that he did not want to tangle with any beauty anymore.

As many said philosophically, it was perhaps better to have never loved at all than to have loved, for love, though a wonderful thing, was not truly romantic. For a while, it was easy to get caught up in the moment and truly fall in love, yet the real world and all its problems were unforgiving, and easily hit lovers with the force of a moving train. Precious gems were torn apart, and false stories of uninhibited love were shredded. Fantasies told lies of ideal love, innocent love between two people, yet they were so quick to use tender words that the gesture lost all significant meaning. Everything slowly dissolved into thin air like smoke and ash being whipped away into the wind. The particles, scattered loosely, were carried away from him, mixed with previous emotions, pleasures, and desires—rather, his displeasure that the gods wished to deny him a family and a permanent lover. After all, for vampires crossing the line between life and death was no light task. Tezuka's existence was sin. Those who stole vitality from any living creature so cruelly surely could not have any hope of retribution.

Even then, life was not eternal.

Eventually, vampires died, too. That was the fate of the world. Immortality was only a sad deception. Nothing lived forever; everything fell to the darkness. The only reward to a vampire was the gift of eternal youth. Such only worked to the vain and mindless. Tezuka was neither, and his existence was only continued from his rather human desire to live on. Truly, not many wanted to die, and Tezuka had nowhere near enough nobility to finally decide that this half-life was a true disgrace. Perhaps when he discovered that one day, he would throw himself to the hunters in a disgraceful form of suicide, or he would darkly find a man brave enough to plot an introverted version of seppuku so as to spare his almost noble honor.

Like the sad, sad melody of that music box so many years ago, the wind painted a song of lament across the sky, and he almost wished to send Fuji home to hide the youthful, innocent eyes from it. Yet another selfish part of him stayed there and indulged fully in Fuji to taste the full sweetness of their bonds, as if he could draw all of Fuji's energy and essence out of him by standing next to him. Fuji was all too complacent, it seemed, to give that to Tezuka until he dropped onto the floor from weakness. Tezuka didn't want that.

To think that right now, at that very moment Fuji dropped every memory on the page of a journal would have been outrageous. Tezuka's calm exterior bade him to stay calm, but as if sensing danger in the air, he pulled on Fuji's wrist so that his heels dragged against the dust suddenly. He stumbled and nearly fell forward as if he expected Tezuka would catch him, but was sorely disappointed when Tezuka only pulled on ahead in determination.

Perhaps at that moment they were the famed scene in the movie, exuding a strange aura. Yet they were not appearing as the loving or 'perfect' couple. Nothing in life was perfect, not even Tezuka, despite his seemingly flawless skin and silken eyes. Tezuka's eyes and face would kiss the darkness whenever he pulled Fuji along into an alley, but distinctly Fuji did not belong there. Tezuka was a shadow of the night, and Fuji, so full of life, was like a flower growing in a place dominated by darkness. Yet somehow, the petals still glowed.

"Tezuka, where are we going?" His light inquiry was followed by a tilt of the head, and an almost tired yawn that was stifled by those graceful, beautiful fingers. For a moment, Tezuka was seized by a spasm, the chimerical thoughts that he would reach out and kiss each of those fingers and then perhaps the palm. He did not lay such earthly affections across the hand, yet in his other he held one of them and pulled Fuji commandingly along like a strict parent.

"I'm taking you home."

Never had there been a time when he had spoken an answer that was so curt, yet so drawn out. They passed a familiar corner and Fuji looked around absentmindedly to watch a cat that perched itself on top of a garbage can, mewling at them when they passed. Had Tezuka not been pulling him along, one might have easily believed that he could have run straight into a brick wall without even noticing that he had smacked into something solid. His feet, rather than his mind, had memorized the way to the doorstep, and the path that they took had been worn by the passing of many times. The simple action of pulling Fuji back to the safety and warmth of his home took little more mind than general attentiveness; little focus needed to be paid in tribute to the task that rested in his palm.

"Sometimes, you worry too much, Tezuka. You need to lighten up. Smile."

Fuji's words, though they were so carefree, were finally enough to begin to unsettle him. After all, he always paid so little attention to the concept of safety and preferred to divert much-needed attention to his favorite, mindless pastimes and pleasures. In the past, he may have discovered that in love, self-reliance was placed squarely in his palms. However, Fuji was far more independent than that and seemed to deviate from the idea of Tezuka's protection. Even so, ever move and every choice seemed to beckon for the monsters of the world in a wild gesture. In that sense, Fuji perhaps needed at least a little protection from the monsters of the world, but it didn't help that Tezuka was a monster as well.

In Fuji's defense, the boy was strong, stronger than many humans that he had ever seen. Sometimes, though, this advantage could be wielded against Fuji as a fatal weakness. Perhaps one day a pursuer would grow lucky and rise to attack Fuji's vulnerability to find no barrier that deflected every attempt with the accuracy of a sharp knife. Fuji was talented, but careless, and with such a weakness in that very trait, his amazing talents faded into nothing. At that very moment, all his morbid thoughts chased themselves around his mind and he felt a small, yet dark feeling begin to grow in his hear and consume his chest; maybe it was sadness and lament coupled with his worry that he would destroy Fuji's very being.

Fuji's attitude was somewhat childish; he enjoyed fashioning the world as his playground and paid little mind to the dangers that crept across it. He far more enjoyed playing mind with people and creatures that would wait to take advantage of him when he was weakest. Fuji, the martyr, would fall to the evils of the world like a golden, glowing sacrifice that was thrown as a gift to the darkness only to be consumed by the very being he had earlier tempted. Fuji was a desirable creature, one of great grace and androgynous beauty that made Tezuka's fingertips tingle.

"You are careless, Fuji. Never let your guard down." His voice was passive, yet at the same time, his words of warning were significant, and Fuji tilted an eyebrow at them.

"You aren't yourself tonight."

Perhaps not, because as of late, Tezuka had truly not acted as his character permitted. Tezuka dwelt upon dusty, yet unfading memories for so long that today his syntax had transformed in favor of an uncharacteristic view. What turned out to be most worrisome was Fuji's personal, introverted perception, as he had an ability to carefully tack and monitor each of Tezuka's emotions and thoughts. Tezuka's ears perked for only a moment in favor of the rush of the wind, but lowered to find comfort in the sound of Fuji's soft breathing. The effect was calming, like the sound of the waves and wind in the morning coupled with the soothing, familiar scent of salt-weighted air that told him he was close to the unending blue, where water met sky in a hazy, yet lovely mirage. Fuji's perception seemed to be the strangest at these moments, and yet odder because he seemed to be only attuned to Tezuka, something that was all too strange to be normal.

As if he only fashioned Fuji's presence as a gesture of many simple pleasures, he seemed to enjoy indulging every once in a while, and couldn't allow his hold on the warm wrist to slip at all until they reached Fuji's doorstep. Even then, he allowed silence to fall, especially seeing as no crickets were there to sing tribute to their presence. The wind slipped away to leave them alone for a few minutes, allowing the quiet to be better accompanied. Slowly, their hands drew apart. As Fuji's returned to his side, Tezuka allowed his fingers to curl in what may have been a gesture of slight discomfort. As if it had suddenly realized its role was needed again, the wind picked up in an unseemly gust that was strong enough to knock Tezuka's glasses askew. The matter seemed to be quite enough to provide Fuji with entertainment for the night, for he smiled widely at the wildness of Tezuka's hair. For only a moment, only on account that they were so obviously alone, he dared himself to run his fingers through the beautiful, yet untamable locks that almost seemed ancient under his fingers. He twisted his fingers gently through them fondly, and then paused to rub Tezuka's temples.

Tezuka frowned.

"Wouldn't you enjoy visiting the beach tomorrow? I don't have any school tomorrow, so maybe we can go all night and stay there for as long as we want." At that suggestion, Tezuka's eyes traced the delicately pale face, touched with human color, as Fuji spoke, noting how each feature moved in elegant expression. "Wouldn't that be fun?" Fuji asked this so carelessly, as if the world was only built on fun and the pure thrill of the situation. Tezuka did not like it when people looked upon the world so callously. In fact, Fuji was perhaps keen on discovering gain the rocky cove, where barren wilderness covered the rocky shoals in a strange, wild manner. That place may have seemed undesirable to some, but Fuji found strange enjoyment in exploring it, especially with the reassurance of Tezuka at his side. He sought enjoyment on balancing on boulders and leaping from rock to rock. Fuji liked to spin on the sand when nobody was looking up at the clear, starry sky while he tested the tug of the tide at his ankles and explored the shoreline.

"If time permits,"

Maybe, just maybe Fuji sometimes wondered if Tezuka believed that fun was something that could only be experience in one's spare time; maybe Tezuka thought that he didn't have time for things that many would consider trivial. To a vampire, the chemistry of life didn't affect them; most literally, he was only a walking corpse. Tezuka stood firmly apart from the thrilling adrenaline rush that Fuji experienced whenever he experienced the raw excitement and exasperation of experiencing something brand new. Rather than considering those things entertaining, Tezuka turned the other cheek to them and went on his own path. Fuji only thought of trivial things.

"Come with me,"

Fuji breathed out each cheerful word in warm breath, as if there were no inhibitions to hold them back. Tezuka felt scorn come upon his soul suddenly upon realization that in the midst of their cordial conversation, they had allowed their bodies to drift closer together, as if hoping to entangle within an elegant style of ballroom dance. His eyes, wide and full of stoic, unsettled emotion were only what Fuji sought in entertainment. Tezuka was only able to blink at this small solace, their silence, ran its course. Before Fuji, he lay fully revealed from fingertips to toes; he was never spared by that calculative stare. Like millions of tiny threads, his emotions unraveled gracefully. His senses began to prickle when he innately felt the temptingly warm breath so close to his lips. He need only incline his head slightly, and his lips would be against the neck of the human in an awkward kiss, or perhaps a bite. Would Fuji allow that?

A single snowflake fluttered in the air hoping to break the tense atmosphere and silence between them that created a thick, yet invisible wall between them when they were only centimeters apart. Whenever this symphony of dangers sounded in the background, though its beauty was tempting, they both had to step back for fear of harming the other, or perhaps loosing what little they had. Sometimes, temptation was a challenge of its own, though. These sensations coupled with their proximity were laughable, and Fuji chose to let his warm chuckles form clouds in the chilly evening air when the snowflakes fell harder. As if suddenly growing more serious, the laughs grew mocking, and Tezuka repressed a shudder at the ice-cold tone they mocked.

"Do you like the snow?"

A tense, unexpected silence passed between them as Tezuka surveyed Fuji's face with a little too much scrutiny—too much to be normal for even him, yet not a generous enough amount for to spark heat on this cold, snowy night. Not even for a moment, he tried to wonder why exactly his lips and eyes were surveyed with such intensity. Those eyes were too kind for their own good, and filled with masked fascination that Fuji could discern only barely beneath a calm, controlled expression. They gave each tiny feature drawn across his expression appreciation for the beauty of its elegance.

Only half aware of a cool, stony hand that traced lightly across his face and rubbed under his half opened eyes as if unaware of every single pretentious action, Tezuka only acted as if he was staring into an atmosphere even thinner than air, as if he was in a deep trance that not even Fuji could break. Slowly, they blinked. Possibly, his eyes widened only a fraction to realize how much his every feature was scrutinized. The glowing orbs came to rest on his lips intensely. Before Fuji could suppress a gasp, Tezuka closed the final distance between them. All his awareness rushed passed him at the speed of a snapping whip when he felt the firm press of the cool mouth against his. Everything was dissolving into thin air as if the particles were weakened by this single touch, and frightened away by the sudden warmth they produced on this cold, cold night. The very fever of the moment was unparalleled to anything he had ever felt, a fire in his chest. The longer their lips pressed, the more the overwhelming sensations enveloped him in their chilling embrace until he was numb. Tezuka had only enough skill to capture him in mind, body and soul even without frightening force, and stole his breath from him in the process greedily, yet so tenderly at the same time. Even now, his heart pounded in his chest that each small action and decision was enough to bring the welcoming chill into his heart; it enveloped every faction of his being until he was completely numb. Without any clear thoughts left, he threw all caution to the wind and without even eyeing the consequences he threw his arms around Tezuka mindlessly and returned the gesture with strange, fervid enthusiasm.

Then, in a gesture that was even to curt for even Tezuka's character, he pulled away so quickly that Fuji was nearly knocked off of his feet at the sudden, dizzying effect of the rush of air between them and sudden, unwanted space; Fuji's mind swam, and his vision darkened so far that he could only see Tezuka standing in front of him giving him a far too intense stare, his hazel eyes burning like somber flames that danced in the sorrow of each passing moment.

Perhaps for only a moment, while the solace of a silence for only three seconds, the two took a few steps away from each other, their feet scraping the cement and dragging against the ground as if a compelling opposite force was needed to pry them apart. Such a little touch had produced a rush of emotions, something so similar to pain-numbing endorphins. Not a hair on Fuji's head was displaced, as if the gesture didn't displace a single thread of sanity, as a target that stood calmly before him to challenge him strangely to another tangle and a brush with fate and death. Those eyes dared him only to touch and kiss again, to do more. A small thread of sanity and reason brought him to stand there solidly and firmly resist the temptation to leap at the other. Though their sudden and unexpected brush with fate was unexpected, dangerous as it was, the very feeling, the rush of adrenaline, was far too tempting to even try and resist.

When his vision blurred over like a muted abstract painting, Tezuka couldn't have been sure if it was his imagination or if Fuji really leaned in closer and allowed their lips to brush once more. He was sure, though, that if this touch, this sacred contact was to continue for only a minute more, he would lose all control. Fuji's human touch was warm and full of temptation; each small grant of skin against skin was maddening and dampened all sanity and rationality that Tezuka had left in him.

"Good night," his voice was in barely a whisper. There was utter finality in the way that Tezuka bade it, his voice echoing solemnly across the tense, cold air. At that moment, the sadness rushed up to numb the momentary shock and tension that the impulsive gesture had awakened like a flame. Slowly, Tezuka turned on his heels to leave a very confused Fuji resting behind, carefully tracking the man's movements until his eyes came to rest on the back and the strong shoulders. Though he had been able to see his breath cloud before him in the air all night, nothing had felt colder than that moment when the unsatisfying gesture left him longing, without pretense. His lonely heart was left abandoned on the doorstep, and slowly died with the departure of Tezuka's retreating form. While Tezuka suffocated in a wave of tangible memories, insanity washed over in a rather uncomfortable moment.

Fuji's felt the very chill of Tezuka's being was over him. Was he sane anymore? He didn't know. Deafly, he was aware of his pounding heart that halted his breathing until he shook from the lack of oxygen. Surely, he hadn't just kissed Tezuka.

"Tezuka…"

The snow fell harder and tangled through his bangs, clung to his eyelashes, and melted on his cheek, yet Fuji could no longer think around this mind-numbing cold. A gesture that had just been so warm and so fervid had suddenly left him feeling far more unsettled than he had been in a long time—no, that was a true touch of pain, emotional pain.

Everything felt sadly melancholy.

_She laid her head on his lap weakly while her lips trembled and the silence spoke whispers of memories that passed both their deaf ears; he played absently with the black satin ribbon in his fingers. In turn she would then listen to the whispered words of affection meant for her ears only, and never for anyone else. Her eyes lowered in depression and closed, while perhaps a single tear escaped for true sadness. _

_The unbeatable quiet was maddening, and as the effect had begun to run its course, the effects became more and more apparent through every tiny action she made, the actions that mimicked her tired, clouded eyes with dark, unattractive circles around them from fatigue. For warmth she may have instinctively curled closer to him, yet he was no source of heat. Even then, her sorrow did not allow her to withdraw from the only utopia of numb, distant comforts that tried without success to quell her grief. _

_He spoke her name, but across the quiet of the night, his voice did not reach her ears. She turned her face slightly when he reached down to rest a hand on her forehead, perhaps to check her temperature. She seemed so cold, yet her flushed face told otherwise. At her fever, he frowned. _

"_This wasn't your fault." _

_This time she knowingly ignored him._

_She wouldn't even seek help through the solace of words. _

_At that very moment, he solemnly swore that he would never tangle with humans again. _

_He pulled her up from his lap to hold her constantly trembling body in an attempt to soothe the untamable cold that overtook her soul—the intense guilt that had burned her to a point of absolute silence. Sadly, he kissed the corner of her mouth in a weak attempt to lighten the melancholy song that rang through the room. _

_That had been their last kiss._

_He once had loved her. _


	11. Chapter Ten DREAMS

Peace of mind does not like Kyoka, no it doesn't!

I'm going to make this very quick author's note. I really want to apologize for the time lapse. November is one of my busiest months in the winter. All bunched into one, I began jazz band, took up chess, studied for exams, and traveled from California and back. Busy, busy!

Thank you for all the reviews!

**Before you favorite, alert, or anything else, I enjoy first and foremost any feedback—from everyone. Feedback is much appreciated. What do I need to do better? What do you want to see? What do you think? **

I should be making updates a little faster… soon.

As a note for the actual story, I do delve a little more into the entire vampire concept. However, a lot of it will probably be a little different than what most people portray. If anything confuses you, feel free to ask me!

As for always, all rights and characters (except my own) are credited to Konomi Takeshi.

* * *

**Chapter Ten ****DREAMS**  
_-Tezuka-_  
_The Past _

_"Come walk with me, Kunimitsu," _

_My dearest…_

_My dearest…_

With the fading memories that had been taunting his eyes, Tezuka's eyes flickered dully. The fire in them had blown down for tonight despite the static, stale air that plagued the room. His pen, resting unused on the desk, begged to be touched, but his numb fingers only reached so far before they fell weakly back. In an uncharacteristic gesture, shown only when he was assured solitude, he laid his head against the desk to try and block out the screams that plagued his ears before dying down to meet deadly, yet tender whispers. All he had left was his revolve, and a firm stoic mask; inside, though, his heart began to ache with the redundancy of the moment.

Truthfully, he began to forget what came to pass many years ago, but the teenaged human made it harder. It only made him remember more vividly. With Fuji, he could not forget completely again. Without Fuji, he could no longer bear to keep hold of his sanity. With or without the either, he would be lost for a cause. All he could do was, in a strange manner, cling to Fuji while he debated each consequence and benefit with strict precision.

The letter had been folded at the bottom of a desk drawer neatly, tied in black satin ribbon and finished with a fancy bow. Cleverly, it had been hidden between papers he rarely read so that time would pass before he finally read it, and then fingered the black ribbon fondly with forlorn.

The lonely road that she asked him to walk was an empty one devoid of the beauty of life. In his strength, he could no longer share his heart with anybody as he had with her. Tezuka grew more reclusive, but perhaps it was a sad excuse after her departure, for he had sworn never to touch a single human again. The thought of soft, warm skin repulsed him, and Tezuka turned his head away.

Life was so short for humans, and it was easy to forget. Even after the death of somebody precious, most did not pull away from society. Instead, they only pulled themselves closer to their companions, as if the action was simply human nature. In sad mimicry of a species he could never become, Tezuka formed a clan and over the years, took his rightful place at the top of the noble aristocracy determined by power. Now, there were so many that feared and admired his amazing power. His power, though, was not a true feat; rather, Tezuka's only accomplishment was his extraordinary 'control'.

This is why he held this letter in his hand instead of his beloved. This was why he was denied everything most precious. Why? Tezuka couldn't love, and no matter how extraordinary his control might have been, it would never mirror the amount of patience and resistance he possessed as a human—he could never return to a truly level personality. He always had a limit that was broken when pushed in the wrong way. .

He wanted to cherish these words, but in a way, he was slowly pulling farther away from her.

In pale fingers, he took the aging, thin sheet of paper nearly translucent in the darkness. The ink glinted with untold malice, but bravely, he placed his forehead against the sheet of paper and breathed quietly while deep within his mind, he dug a plea for strength. In a corner, a ghost of a woman smiled and granted it, and this time, he was able to sit up fully, his eyes growing fiercer.

With the ribbon and an old necklace clutched in hand, he stood, took a deep breath, and felt the strength as it rushed through him. Slowly it died down to a normal pace, but he still felt the power. All too quickly, though, he put away the necklace, the ribbon, and the letter when he heard a knock at the door.

"Tezuka, I am afraid we need your help. There is a leader from a neighboring clan here that wishes to discuss our alliance."

"Very well. I will be downstairs shortly."

Acutely, his ears pricked to the sound of footsteps that glided down the stairs, and then of distant whisperings that came from a torn up kitchen made homey by a single kitchen table and various candles, a suitable lighting fixture. Tezuka opened the drawer of the desk to carefully fold the letter properly before touching a hand to his heart and closing the door with utter finality.

What Tezuka found downstairs was not surprising in a very remote respect. Tezuka found his members assembled in the kitchen, as they were designated by his law to do. At the other side of the room, sipping a proffered glass of thin, crimson liquid was a man that Tezuka knew by the name of Yukimura, a leader in the neighboring territory who had adopted similar principles to Tezuka's. Calmly, Tezuka nodded. Also assembled in the kitchen were his far more loyal members, who had joined him on appreciation for his philosophy rather than his power. Kawamura stood smiling meekly, along with Inui Sadaharu and his close companion Kaidoh Kaoru. There were others in the room, but not his own. Three stood by Yukimura's side, recognizing themselves as his elite. Sanada stood among them, who Tezuka was well acquainted with.

The room was filled with his members, though some were outside. Of course, this was unavoidable. Had not a system of winding tunnels been built under the house, he would not have been able to house his entire clan, even in a house so large. However, not everyone fitted well in the kitchen, and some had gone outside to soak in the night's rare moonlight while the night lasted. The rest grew silent and drew their heads up as Tezuka entered. Yukimura was knowingly glancing around.

In this world, his word was law. Tezuka befriended many of the elite among the vampires, so an enemy of Tezuka was likely an enemy of the strongest in vampire society. Their alliance though, based on his power, was beginning to waver. Many vampires, if not able to agree with his law, tolerated it, but in a world of violence streaked by thick, human blood, many were firmly opposed to it. Their growing movement would soon be enough to sweep them, but for now he remained firmly in control.

Perhaps this had to do with his recent companionship with Fuji, and the murders.

Already, he began to hear whispers when his subordinates thought he was gone.

"_Did you hear Tezuka's fallen victim to a human?" _

"Yes, I saw her. She's quite a fair beauty, but she's weakening him."

"_Typical woman." _

These conversations began erupting at odd hours of the day, and Tezuka's ears could not help but catch them as he basked in the solitude of his confines. They made him frown further and turn his head down. Of course, they had mistaken Fuji as a girl, but that wasn't what worried him.

Fuji wasn't weakening him. What did they know about the matter?

Yukimura spoke up.

"Tezuka, has your clan changed its rules, or do you have any particular traitor in your midst?"

In the darkness, Yukimura's fangs glinted slightly as he spoke, though Yukimura did not mean to be menacing. There was a certain, peculiar grace about Yukimura. It almost reminded Tezuka of Fuji. However, today on Yukimura's face was a slight frown.

"Word of the murders has reached your territory."

"Tezuka, you know that in our world, news travels fast. Have you changed your laws?"

"No."

Yukimura turned on his heels and faced the opposite wall, looking sternly at Sanada who was staring at the two strangely. With a glint of eyes and fangs, Yukimura turned back gracefully, running a hand through his chin-length hair. "Tezuka, I am not here to discuss your laws, actually, but it is curious of how obvious these murders are becoming. You risk the exposure of our kind. The humans know that there is something strange about these deaths. They won't even tell the media about the autopsy reports. It's troublesome, Tezuka; if the deaths are traced back to our group, there will be trouble. Our world is so carefully concealed. I cannot stand by while you risk the survival of our kin."

"I believe that this is the work of another—not one in my clan."

Yukimura frowned and sipped from his cup. Only one with acute senses could tangibly see the tension that tightened between them, pulling betwixt Yukimura and Tezuka like taut string. "Are you sure, Tezuka?"

For the past month, Fuji had spoken much of the strange murders, as if something was bothering him about them. Nothing on Fuji's calm, contented expression gave it away, but Fuji's emotional spectrum radiated to him like colored light. Fuji knew something, but Tezuka was not quite audacious enough to ask it, especially when he knew the answer that he would get. Fuji would never reveal anything substantial. Besides, what information was there to be earned? No, the murders were not from his group. Quite easily, he could tell the difference between one that had fed simply from the prepared draught, or chose their sinful option that was sometimes far too tempting. Only many years ago, after all, and woman had spoken gently to him while her eyes lingered upon his mouth, streaked crimson with fresh blood, and then a matching set of eyes that abandoned hazel flames to melt into bloody pools.

"I am certain."

"Then what will you do, Tezuka? There's growing opposition of your power in the territories in Europe. There are new vampires coming into our world—ones that were half-blooded before they were turned. I've heard whisperings of it—they're vicious. What will you do?"

A long time ago, Tezuka never thought that he would live to hear the word 'half-blood'. Their world varied so little from decade to decade, simply because vampires simply did not die easily. Vampires could live for hundreds, if not, thousands of years. Their world seldom changed. Their culture and lifestyle remained nearly the same. Small changes often took place, of course. In the modern world, the life of a vampire was far harder than life was three hundred years ago. Now, on the horizon rose a race bearing the ignominious name of 'half-bloods.' Vampire lineage was difficult to trace. As the world modernized, one-night-stands became more and more often. Simply put, it was far easier for an affair between a vampire and a young human woman. When the mothers had their children, the secrets of their concealed tryst were never even revealed. Even a mother could not tell the difference between a human and half-blooded child.

As vampires lived onwards, the weaknesses of human blood slowly dirtied the proud creature's veins. Vampires were not humans; humans were not vampires. However, when humans began to make the leap to eternal life, the thick blood began to vanish. Were half-blooded vampires simply another revolution?

Simply put, these children lived normal lives. There were subtle definitions. A mutt child, after all, could not impersonate one species or another. These subtle, intriguing differences were concealed within the DNA and hidden so deep in the blood that not even the strongest microscope could tell a difference. Their personalities would always be… different, perhaps a little more predatory. These ancestors of some of the strongest monsters never even knew of the noble blood they inherited. They, in turn, passed the heritage onto other bloodlines and never knew truly about their unique existence.

Even now, Tezuka knew very specific details, hallowed in the vampire world. Children were nearly all male, and possessed abilities of both species. Simply put, they were mutts. Though vampires could never stand sunlight, half-blooded vampires tolerated it very well. Though human bodies rejected different blood types, these half bloods were able to tolerate any type without going into shock, even though blood was hardly a food source, the tolerance of any type of blood came with its advantages.

He heard whispers of it as well, though. Blood was no longer a question—rather, vampires began to wonder to what extent having qualities of both species granted. Of course, any creature with a drop of human blood in their veins lost every relatively human characteristic in their ascension to immortality, but that was not the question.

Did having noble vampire blood already running through a person's veins strengthen that reaction?

As vampire bloodlines passed their abilities down, their abilities slowly dissipated. The last of the original vampires held unbelievable strength in the palm of their hands that Tezuka would never posses. Did having just a drop of pure blood in one's veins before the transformation strengthen this?

Oh, how Tezuka wished that he knew this so many years ago, when the knowledge would have counted the most.

Even when Tezuka understood this, many of his subordinates did not. Their world was not filled with tactile knowledge as much as it was primitive survival. There were the people who named him leader who simply thought of blood every day. This was all they needed to be content. One of them piped up. "Tezuka, what does that mean?

"There are humans that were granted vampire blood by an ancestor or even a father or mother. Half bloods appear to be perfectly normal human beings. However, if they were to enter our world, their lineage would likely grant them power beyond anybody's reach. As from what I've heard, their strength is what closely rivals a pure-blooded vampire."

"I see."

"So, what will you do?" Yukimura interjected.

They had nothing to do with these murders, though, he was sure.

Yes—and not only that, but lingering systematically along these murders were tiny, unnoticeable signs that grew into a warning for Tezuka. Only recently, his dreams had visited a bloody chamber, and though Tezuka was not gifted with foresight, the more he tried to dismiss the strange, violent vision, the more it seemed to occur as a subconscious warning to him. Yes, there was something wrong about the obvious way the murders were conducted. On the larger scale, though, was a greater enemy that stood before him smirking. On the oncoming rush of tide, Tezuka could not see the face.

Yet he would not pay attention to half-blooded vampires turned into full vampires… Yet within his heart, he knew there was a small pang where his heart used to be.

"There will be zero tolerance. Zero."

If Tezuka had not the ability to keep his expression even and controlled, his eyes would have glinted with a strange, implacable malice that glinted through his words. When Tezuka said that he had zero tolerance, he meant that he would tolerate no one. "I will banish anyone who disobeys, and I will deal with murderer. As for these new vampires, we will not know until these whisperings are declared true. I am sure they are educated in our way of life—they will not be so careless as to recklessly invade established clan territory."

"You speak bravely, Tezuka."

As if they expected Yukimura and Tezuka to break out in bloody battle, everyone waited with baited breath to see who would leap for an attack first. Fights between vampires were not uncommon, but nothing of that fact diminished their danger. Fights were vicious and cruel, though usually it was only power struggles. If there were one way to disrupt the rather cool relations among their kind, a fight would be exactly how to achieve it. Vampires challenging each other rarely allowed death, but their intentions soared higher. Their kind never entered fights without intentions to kill.

Unlike their groups' expectations, Yukimura and Tezuka remained calm.

"Yukimura, if there isn't anything else you need to ask of me, perhaps I should see that you and your elite make it back to your territory safely. You are welcome to remain, but I wish to adjourn our meeting."

"Very well. Remember what I said, though, Tezuka. I do not wish to become enemies, but unless you show wishes to maintain our alliance, I will begin to think otherwise."

Once in their history, their kind lived in relative peace; however, as time passed, these relationships became fragile; war decimated clans and tore apart groups that were allied for hundred of years. Battles and uprisings—all over blood—endangered the survival of their kind. Kinship was no longer a very simple word—it had never been in their world. Even now, blood bonds—the strongest type of bond that their kind was capable of forging—were broken. Yet, among it all they were able to keep it secret. Hunters were scorned. This was, in fact, the coming of a new era. Now more than ever, it was growing more common to see vampires apart from normal lineage. In Tezuka's time, it had been uncommon, but now these people made up almost all of their kind. The original vampires, originally so superior, were losing power.

Silently, Tezuka left bathed in stares from either side, until quiet whispers erupted, hushed and in awe. _"Tezuka is going crazy." _Tezuka shot a warning glare towards the group of underlings speaking and pushed the door open, the wood feeling cool under his pale fingers. Tezuka knew that he didn't want to stay here now. No, he wasn't in the mood to deal with those of his clan anymore. Shaking his head, he left to sit in the solace of the weeded yard, eyeing Yukimura and his elite as they left in silence. Across the road, Fuji stood, and Tezuka frowned, watching as Fuji traced the others that left. He crossed the road and glanced up at the mid-winter moon, then stared at the ground, caked with frost.

"You look troubled, Tezuka."

Biting back a bitter frown, Tezuka exhaled. In the cold of the night, his breath never formed clouds like Fuji's did. No, there wasn't enough human left in the darkness of his heart for even that much warmth. His pale cheeks hadn't even been graced with the telltale signs of warmth. Fuji's cheeks, on the other hand, were graced pink from the cold, and his lips responded to temperature as well. Tezuka remained firmly silent. Whenever he chose not to go out and about, he wore a far more traditional outfit, though something generally frightening to humans. Needing no insulation from the cold, he simply wore monotone black pants and his white shirt. However, something far different, something that even Fuji hadn't glimpsed was the traditional cloak. Glancing at it, Fuji chuckled. The bond between them was unspoken, but understanding. Not once had they ever spoken of the fact that Tezuka wasn't human, though each time he could see questions begging to be answered in Fuji's eyes. _What sort of blood did he drink? Did he ever drink human blood? Why didn't he drink Fuji's?_

"No."

Fuji blinked, and then glanced in the direction in which Yukimura had departed. That expression was a curse, inwardly. Fuji was far too intelligent for a human. He knew far too much. Fuji was able to question while looking past Tezuka's handsome exterior. His intuitiveness was unparalleled, and it was constantly trouble for Tezuka.

"Well, you look handsome tonight. What's the cloak for? Was it a special occasion?" Fuji's voice teased, partially. Today, he was talking too much for Tezuka's liking. Tezuka hadn't wanted to spend the night with Fuji, no, not now. There were things too worrisome that preoccupied his soul. Sometimes, his thoughts would venture to forbidden territory, and he would plead that they stay away from unwanted thoughts, of the taste of Fuji's blood on his tongue while he kissed Fuji's lips, staring at the beautiful face framed by pale hair. Tezuka closed his eyes and turned his gaze away.

"No. It's traditional."

Fuji sat down beside and glanced at the pond, so overgrown with algae that the surface had turned to an eternal green. "You know, you really sound like something is bothering you, Tezuka. I don't think you're a good liar." No, he was perfectly skilled at lying. The deep, blue eyes just had a supernatural ability to delve between layers like nothing else to see inwards at true emotions. Fuji paused and placed his hand against Tezuka's chest as if to search for a heartbeat. Nothing yielded under his warm, human hand. Tezuka remained firmly silent. At the very moment, he was sure that perhaps there was somebody glancing upon them through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Yet, Tezuka couldn't bring himself to ask Fuji to stop.

"Fuji, this isn't proper." Though Fuji acceded to his request and removed his hand, he did not acknowledge Tezuka's order. Fuji's whim moved him. Sometimes, it felt like the words Tezuka gave him affected Fuji very little.

"These murders are troublesome, Tezuka. They keep talking about them on the news. Who do you think is doing them? Why are they not even concealed? I'd think that if it were any serial murderer, he would try and cover up anything. It seems like he's trying to say something. _Ne, Tezuka_—_" _His speech morphed into Japanese rather quickly, and Tezuka immediately silenced him with a firm hand under his chin. Fuji's words dissipated slowly to give way for Tezuka's intense, nearly violent stare.

"Stay away from that, Fuji. It's dangerous."

"I can take care of myself! Besides, _you_ know something about this—mph" Tezuka was not normally a being that was easily frustrated, but Fuji was trying his abnormally thin patience, and he was running short of ways to silence the boy. As if on impulse, he tilted his head to the side and in a gesture uncharacteristic of Tezuka, he leaned forwards and stole every single mean that Fuji possessed to continue their conversation. Only seconds later, he wasn't able to figure out why exactly that he acted in a manner so rash. Tezuka generally was able to think rationally. However, there was something that drove him crazy whenever he was alone with this human boy. Eventually, even Tezuka's steadfast resolve couldn't hold up against the Fuji's charm. Though he was a remarkable being with incredible drive, he was still a victim on sinful lust, noble pride, and insatiable thirst. Tezuka, a man who to so many seemed to be filled with so many morals, constructed clever shields to cloak his crimes. Fuji seemed to have fallen for each little trick, hard.

Somehow, Tezuka couldn't stop even among the painful throbs of regret.

Fuji made a small sound of protest, though partially frustrated when Tezuka pulled away. Fuji was stubborn, and he did not like to meet resistance from Tezuka. Nothing helped, not even the quick kiss Tezuka stole, for it was largely unsatisfying. Fuji hadn't grown to appreciate the way Tezuka quickly took kisses; they were seldom with vapory form. Fuji preferred more direct signs of affection. He didn't like how whenever Tezuka kissed him, he tasted of guilt, as if in kissing Fuji, he had broken a promise.

Fuji did not know the whole story, and Tezuka ignored Fuji's ignorance.

"You're—" Fuji knew he wasn't going to receive an answer from Tezuka anymore. Peevishly, he pulled away, seeming upset that once again, nothing had come out of his tangle with Tezuka. Calmly, Tezuka stared up at the night sky. Fuji lay back in the overgrown grass to try and catch the few stars in the sky. Here, it was nearly impossible. The city was far too polluted. Almost, Tezuka wished he could transfer his memories of clear night skies to Fuji. They were beautiful, and Fuji would have liked them. Fuji wished for impossible things, and Tezuka was willing to give little. Tezuka's many qualms remained locked in his heart, and Fuji clearly wanted the key. Tezuka couldn't; he just could no longer allow a human to see his sins and misgivings. In the night air, he could sense Fuji's anger disappearing, but his warm breath, clouding in front of his face and pink lips, did not.

Fuji seemed comfortable sprawled across the frostbitten grass. His fingers stretched above his head and his legs crossed casually. Fuji was an image of nature, blending so well into the grass while his light-colored bangs crossed across his eyes and strands came to rest on his warm cheeks. Tezuka blinked.

Their bond was misty—strange.

As if touching Fuji in itself was a sin, he brought a hand down to rub through Fuji's hair, and his fingers touched a small piece of metal hidden among Fuji's hair. Pulling back the strands revealed an old hair clip, perhaps a good fifty- or sixty-year-old piece with a jeweled butterfly. He paused in reverence before his fingers allowed the hair to fall back in place. Fuji looked at him strangely, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. Perhaps it was a family heirloom; Tezuka could find little reason to why Fuji might be wearing it.

In the night, the face morphed into somebody else. "Shui…" Fuji blinked at the silent utterance as soft as the wind, and then sat up, blinking as if to ask silent questions. Sometimes the lines between reality and fantasy blurred—a woman's face sometimes replaced Fuji's, and around his neck would be the glint of a ring affixed to a chain. The night sky wielded no answers to him—not one. Fuji's face glowed like an angel's, speaking words to him.

At that very moment, perhaps there were people who glanced at him and question his sanity as a leader. For, he sat there looking as if anything could have compelled him to lay his lips against Fuji's neck and break his own rules. They were damnable—Tezuka was a sinner and a murderer. No, he couldn't transfer any of that grime to Fuji. He couldn't bear the idea of harming a pure soul anymore. Fuji quieted and their gazes often spoke words. There wasn't much to be told verbally, though. Fuji couldn't say anything else to him. They remained centimeters apart. Each moment, this proximity frustrated him beyond belief? As a human, he used to be a man of amazing control; however, the fact that so many seemed to miss was that in his ascension to immortality, he lost every attribute he once possessed as a mortal. Of course, over the years, when fate was kind, he regained his personality bit by bit. Life had not been kind enough to allow him such control, though. Right there, Tezuka tried to quell the impulse to lean over and press Fuji into the grass, to breathe in the thick scent of the earth that mingled with Fuji's blood. If he was a true man of impulse and instinct, he would have followed every urge that arose within his body, even the thought of running his hands across the warm body and pressing his lips against the human's tender earlobe.

Without even thinking, his lips moved. "Come inside. It's too cold for you out here." Obviously Fuji wasn't going home, but did he have to say that? This was creating problems, and Fuji was all too quick to stand and then follow Tezuka inside to stare in wonder at the dusty, ancient halls surprisingly devoid of his brethren. Tezuka grabbed Fuji's wrist, and in a gesture so quickly that Fuji couldn't even blink, he pulled him down a corridor, up a rickety set of stairs, and into his room where few would notice it was he who invited a human into their home.

Of course, he had done the unspeakable now. There would be yet more whispers, more instability. At the moment, he couldn't bring himself to think about it. He merely asked Fuji if it was warmer as Fuji straightened his jacket. That was crazy—it wasn't far too warm in here. In a house full of creatures that rejected light and reveled on cold nights, heating was not necessary. Fuji merely nodded and went to press a key on the piano. The note didn't echo across the room.

He played a chromatic scale, and the notes climbed into a crescendo and dissipated again when Fuji hit a sour note.

"You play piano?" he asked after a few seconds of roaring silence. Tezuka nodded and sat on the bench, placing his fingers in familiar positions. His head bowed a little, and his golden eyes darkened but a fraction.

"Yes. Not as much anymore."

"Can you still play something?" Wordlessly, Tezuka moved his fingers against the keys, and the piano came to life with a mysterious melody, one of Tezuka's own creation. Yet, as each key was pressed, the echoing sadness of the true tone was conveyed in such a beautiful way that Fuji couldn't believe Tezuka was the one playing. The pale fingers pressed each note with delicate, swift motions, and Fuji watched in awe before sinking down to sit beside Tezuka. The radiating warmth drove his strength. The melody quickened, its tone richening. Outside the door, walking across hallway each person passing the door would pause and wonder of the beautiful melody that they heard coming from the room and wondered that if they were imaging a human heartbeat that mimicked the constant tick of a steady metronome.

Inside, Fuji sat close to Tezuka, even when they never touched until Fuji reached out and placed a hand over his shoulder, letting his warmth seep into Tezuka's very being in hopes of warming the cold skin. Even through the black cloak, Tezuka felt deathly cold, and was frightfully pale. Fuji wondered silently if he would ever see those cheeks tinted with human warmth. The melody slowed to a stop and Fuji paused. Under his hand, Tezuka was deathly cold and tense. The touch bothered him, obviously. Slowly, with such difficulty, he drew his hand away from Tezuka and breathed a sigh in awe.

"What is that called?" Tezuka only shrugged.

"It doesn't have a name."

The reaction was yet but telltale. Fuji's face slackened in surprise and then drew into a warm smile, a turn of well-colored lips. In turn, Tezuka's pale, colorless lips drew into an absolutely straight line; he was talented at never expressing any of his emotions, thankfully not his desires to kiss Fuji right then and there, to perhaps steal that human warmth for only a while. "So… you wrote it yourself?"

"A long time ago."

Fuji chuckled at how verbose Tezuka had become. Beautifully, Fuji drew away from him and he eyed Fuji. The temptation was almost too much to resist. Tezuka had become talented at staying away from all temptation, though; so for now, he laid not a finger on Fuji. His lips did not touch the gentle curve of the neck like he wished only to find a pulse—the small spot where blood flow was so strong that Tezuka could feel it under his teeth.

"Well, then, can you play something else?"

Fuji was pleased by his abilities, obviously, and his eyes traced Tezuka like he was trying to take in the very image of the man sitting before him. Tezuka, nodding tremulously, raised his fingers again and began playing a far more familiar melody, something so famous that Fuji was able to recognize it, but pause in his appreciation to run his fingers along the line of Tezuka's neck, fingering the black material of the cloak. If it was even possible, Tezuka's eyes darkened further, and slowly, the entrancing melody dissipated so he could turn his head and eye Fuji's rich beauty.

Fuji was oh, so, innocent, and Tezuka hated it. Fuji shouldn't be sitting next to him at that very moment. The boy belonged at home, helping take care of his mother. He wasn't meant to be at a supposedly abandoned mansion on the wrong side of the city sitting next to a man who had the power to kill him in the blink of an eye. Fuji wasn't supposed to smile at him like that, or admire him in the way he did.

Those fingers continued to trace down his neck in admiration. Fuji chuckled softly—he was so close that Tezuka could feel his warm breath. It made every hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Fuji was astoundingly beautiful.

Horror struck though his heart like a funeral hymn creeping about the halls—the sure sign that somebody was dead. Tezuka's eyes must have widened just a fraction, or dilated, perhaps.

"Tezuka?" Fuji never questioned out of fear, but out of curiosity for Tezuka's strange eyes. No, no, Fuji was far too much a temptation. This was not being very fair at all to Tezuka. His resolve was shattering easily upon Fuji's careless touch. It touched down his neck and pressed gently under his chin. Tezuka trembled minutely, not even a movement that Fuji's fingers could track.

"Don't touch him. Humans and vampires should not be mixed."

There was an uncharacteristic pang of anger. Tezuka turned his eyes away from the past and to Fuji, ignoring the voices that erupted in his head. However, another passed, and it was not the voice of another human, but a mentor.

"When a vampire drinks a human's blood, it generally does not forge a bond. From one feeding to the next, we vary our sources of food. However, there are those who chose to keep the same human, and from that, a strong bond can be formed purely off the dependence we have off our food. With each feeding, a vampire takes vitality, but transfers also another form of energy to a human. This is minute—not effective enough to do anything to a human initially, but over time it strengthens bonds."

Tezuka blinked as the odd memory arose. He eyed Fuji again, stopping the hand from tracing anymore by placing his hand over Fuji's.

"However, it is debated about how effective this method truly is. Varying the food source can add strength to your system, and depending upon the human, it can have varying results. Any human can withstand a single feeding as long as enough blood is left. However, multiple feedings can decimate the humans. Their bodies are delicate. Some can take it, some cannot. It is all calculated risk."

It's all calculated risk.

The human can likely be killed.

Calculated risk. That was a dangerous word. Tezuka was, in no sense, somebody who liked to take risks. No, he simply was not the kind of man who was ready to say that he would go against any sort of odd and sacrifice one thing and potentially face the failure of another. No, Tezuka did not have many morals left, but the one thing he was not was reckless. He wouldn't lay a finger upon Fuji for that very reason, even when the hand paused, tracing across the fabric of his shirt and Fuji looked at him. When his eyes were open, they revealed ice blue, wild beauty that many humans had never seen. Across his lips laid a lazy smile, warming over Fuji's human face, plastered with expressions that vampires were incapable of. His lips never moved, but they spoke lovely words twisting with sweet happiness. "You're too serious," Fuji's voice grew breezy. "But you are talented," he mentioned.

Calmly, he wrapped his arms around Tezuka's neck as his eyes slipped shut languidly. However, even upon the initial touch of a pair of lips to his, Tezuka couldn't be sure about Fuji's true intentions. Every meaning slipped past him like water through his fingertips. The warmth crept slowly into his heart, though. Fuji wasn't letting go. No, he was far too deeply absorbed in a kiss of his own initiation, while Tezuka sat there unresponsive.

Why did Fuji nearly always take initiative?

How did not Fuji fear for his own life in doing so? Tezuka radiated of danger; surely, Fuji was sharp enough to realize it. One fatal thing that Tezuka hadn't realized, though, was Fuji never cared far too much for personal safety. If there was any scent of adventure or thrill involved, Fuji grabbed everything he could and chased after the adventure. To him, it didn't matter that he could be hurt or killed.

It was strong enough a sensation in Tezuka's consciousness to make him sting.

The pair of warm, human hands slipped past his cheeks languidly, and for that moment, perhaps a spark of instinct arose him, for the next moment, the contact between their mouths was broken. Fuji's breathing grew softer, but his heartbeat grew quicker. The very feeling was enough to drive him crazy alone. It sent his heart into wild tremors that were almost enough to shake him when he saw Fuji's eyes half-open, half-closed in obvious enjoyment of the kiss. Never once did he think that he would be in this position, where he sat next to Fuji, arms place over Fuji's and teeth resting dangerously against skin. Though the human paused, he could feel Fuji's hands resting against his shoulder, as if he had given into the inevitability of the situation.

As if there was nothing to do.

He knew Fuji would have done very little to resist. Maybe Fuji's choices were what made Tezuka feel so guilty, as if there was something he could do in order to reverse the situation. Of course, there had to be. At that moment, if Tezuka was able to better grasp his control, he probably could have shoved him away and ordered him to leave. The control wavered; Tezuka hadn't felt this amount of chaos cloud his mind for years, and it was beginning to frustrate him as his heart began to flood with guilt. Here before him sat a human being, intelligent, beautiful and accomplished. Fuji was no child, nor was he a coward. Yet, it was that same bold, steadfast nature that was so fatal to humans. Fuji would be better off as a coward that ran away at each of Tezuka's advances. Instead, he only sat there and challenged, as if he fancied himself a worthy opponent of Tezuka.

That was so… stupid.

This time, there was little attempt at delay. Tezuka spared pressing more than a few kisses and nips across skin, perhaps because Fuji fell suddenly silent, though with his fine senses he never once felt Fuji tense. Perhaps it was the thundering sound of Fuji's rapid heart rate that masked it, or that the sudden adrenaline rush had stunned Fuji so much that he couldn't even react. Yet even then, even then there was a small part of him that resented the very idea of taking blood. Right now, his rules were cast away. He and Fuji were in a world apart. They didn't need… rules. Only personal, personal morals were left, and if he were to cast them away, he would no longer have inhibitions. Slowly, threads of conscious past him like the brush of warm ocean water. Fuji murmured something, but not in a tongue he could understand. The only way his cold body would be calmed was by the sure press of his mouth flush against Fuji's neck, tracking the pulse acutely.

At that moment, he forgot all his own laws—laws that he was forbidden to break.

Fuji was there—this was all the reinsurance, no, temptation he needed to be pushed over the edge.

Then, even then, it was different than what he had experienced before. Fuji's touch sapped the energy from him like a leech, and Fuji was not begging. The silence was maddening, in fact. It made Tezuka to pull back for a moment, eyeing Fuji's flushed face wildly before making the final plunge in a sickeningly familiar sensation of his teeth against skin, and then the slow, languid feeling of blood sliding across the skin to meet his tongue.

Each reaction was as Tezuka remembered it. Fuji stilled in his arms, still drawn to Tezuka by strange, irresistible charm. His gestures had not made Fuji tense quite yet, though his well-adapted mind knew that the sensation was not an entirely pleasant one, the feeling of teeth imbedded into the skin that stole blood away greedily. What Fuji felt now was probably a mixture of sensations, but even before that, he was ensnared in Tezuka's trap as he felt his blood being forcibly drawn away from him. Human instinct and fear had yet to play a role, when even beneath his teeth, the heart raced and the blood was intoxicating, weighted down with the sweet taste of adrenaline and something far deeper than anything Tezuka had ever experienced.

At that moment, he could see everything. Fuji's thoughts were an open door to him. They ran deeply through the fabric of his mind like a raging river. Each emotion was a sensation, and each memory only further excitement, until his mind numbed over. He couldn't be quite sure about how long he simply sat there while blood seeped languidly past his lips to remain on his tongue.

He wouldn't have been surprised to feel the warmth of Fuji's tears, running damply between their faces. Yet, somehow, none came. Fuji showed no fear for his life even when he trembled and his heart raced.

Fuji didn't struggle or plea, but there was some unalienable force that pushed Tezuka away from Fuji—so much that he could no longer touch the boy. There was nothing for a moment—no words, no kisses, nothing. Fuji's eyes were still dazed and shocked—wide. And then, before he had even time to respond, Tezuka grabbed him by the wrist, jerked him out of the room, pulled him down the stairs and across the hallway, and shoved him roughly out the door. Fuji opened his mouth, and only then had his eyes washed over with anger from shock. His hand raised to slap Tezuka, yet his own hand, now flushed with human warmth, sped to met Fuji's and in a fierce, yet oddly gentle gesture, he put Fuji's hand back at his side and stared Fuji directly in the eye. Even then, he could see how Fuji's heart suddenly hit the ground, and all the shock of his sudden decision hit him.

"Don't come back here, Fuji."

The door slammed, and as the reaction slowly spread through him like singeing fire, Fuji only blinked. For only that moment, he was sure that his heart had gathered up all other thoughts and died right within his chest. Tezuka's mouth was smeared red, of course, and his cheeks were tinted with strange warmth. All of that, though, ever-intelligent Fuji had calculated well. What sent mind-numbing shock through the fabric of his very being was that simply, only a moment ago he had looked upon the eyes of Tezuka. No, they weren't even Tezuka's eyes.

Deep crimson, the color of his blood, glaring at him fiercely through darkness…

They were the eyes of a monster.

Fuji didn't know what to expect—not this. Numbly, his hand ran up to the burning spot on his neck. The blood was beginning to run down his skin and on to his shirt. Then, as if the fire suddenly caught hold of his heart, he turned and sped into the freezing night, not knowing where to go, nor why he was running. All he wanted to do was to get as far away from those cold, monstrous, red eyes as he possibly could.

Fuji trusted Tezuka.

Whether it was his mind, or simply his legs that wouldn't allow him to stop running, Fuji never knew. Fuji shot across crosswalks and ignored every single traffic light he came across. He bumped past pedestrians and ran blindly.

The shouts began to follow him into the advancing night, and Fuji covered his ears. The night was already advancing on him, and the only choice his burning lungs and dead heart were faced with was to run faster until he stumbled across his doorstep and his legs gave out from under him. Fuji's mouth was gaping, and he took deep gulps of air while his fingers clutched his neck painfully.

No matter how much air he swallowed, his lungs were never satisfied. Fuji breathed, but was never parched of his ravaging need for more oxygen. The cold, hard pavement froze his flushed cheeks, but his fever didn't subside. Fuji didn't know what else to do. His scream tore across the air so sharply that his ears began to ache. He curled into a fetal position and clutched his aching head weakly. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and licked his dry, red lips, then poured every lament into the icy darkness as if he expected everyone to hear.

The words met silence, and only burnt his frozen lips.

Somewhere across the city Tezuka's hand only hesitated for a moment before he slammed the door to his room in complete, uncharacteristic fury. His heart raced—his body was alight with sensation that he knew all too well—the familiar, pleasant aftereffect of the taste of human blood. Now, though, all he could see was the horrible, haunting image of Fuji. The beautiful, yet wide and expressionless eyes pleaded with him. Tezuka's anger heightened. Why did that image haunt him?

In shame, Tezuka wiped the blood on his mouth on the corner of his sleeve.

Fuji's beautiful eyes and face were clearer to him now than ever before, and they spoke to him sweetly. However, he stole away Fuji's happiness all in one night. Fuji trusted him, and Tezuka sorely betrayed that trust. Darkness crept across his heart. Everything was wrong—wrong. Fuji was being misled. Tezuka was sorely deceptive. How far did these guilty faults go? Human culture had its problems, too. Humans fantasized far too much about their kind; they created false notions of 'pleasure and pain' and of 'power'. Many painted a beautiful picture of vampires, but Tezuka knew those images were sorely deceptive.

Vampires were a mix of mythological and fictional traits. Tezuka wasn't dull—he knew the evil of his doings. He could no longer justify them. Even when he tried to appease his sin with animal blood, he could never truly cleanse himself. Tezuka thrived off the vitality of others, and that was enough of a sin. Being bitten by a vampire certainly was not a gift.

Vampires were despicable creatures; nothing on earth could justify it. Nothing in the world constituted a pure, innocent relationship between a vampire and a human. They had their weaknesses, and they were evil. Their danger was latent, and upon slipping into bloodlust, they became uncontrollable.

However, humans still wanted to paint a wistful, ideal picture of it.

The price of mankind's mistakes was swift and just. Fuji fell into his hands all too easily and drowned in the sudden, unexpected sensation. Fuji was so captured that as Tezuka drained his life force, he couldn't even muster the strength to fight back. It was hideously pathetic.

Tezuka's memories spanned so far that he could remember the feeling; even now, he wasn't very far akin to the idea of it. A vampire bite seared through the body like hot fire and wreaked upon the soul the greatest sadness of all and wielded even the sense of guilt as a lethal weapon. What seared his heart most, though, was not the sting of his guilt at the realization he betrayed Fuji, nor was it the thought of the human's pain.

He didn't know quite what it was, though.

Fuji still lay on his doorstep, struggling until he managed to compose himself. Slowly, his fingers traveled up to his neck again and touched the wound. The bleeding had slowed, and already, some of the blood had was drying and flaking. Flecks of brown, dried blood appeared in his palm, and with numb resignation, Fuji pulled open the front door and stumbled inside.

His mother was nowhere to be found, of course; even if she was waiting angrily for him at the door, Fuji's apathy crept so far across the surface of his heart that he couldn't muster enough emotion to worry about the consequences. He carried himself sluggishly to the bedroom, forgetting to even remove his shoes, collapsed onto his bed, and buried his face in the pillow. Even now, the scent was entirely his own. There was no trace of Tezuka's bloody scent scattered across the surface. Here, he could simply breath and release his worries. Here, he could forget about Tezuka.

That's what he needed to do; he needed to let go of his memories.

With a sigh that radiated into the lonely night, he let his worries out past his lips. This time, they slipped languidly past his lips as if his barriers were already raised. It was cold, though. Closing his eyes, he curled his knees to his chest and buried his head. His hands abandoned their lonely, distant position and looped around his head.

Hidden under the warmth of the blanket, Fuji could no longer muster the strength to care.


	12. Chapter Eleven MEMORIES

UGGGGGGGGH. So long since I've updated.

This chapter is junk. I don't like it.

But I haven't updated in months. Please, please forgive me for such a poor excuse for a chapter! I promise I'll write more! : (

All disclaimers reply.

Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

**Incandescent**

_Chapter Twelve_

_MEMORIES_

The night was cold.

Through all this ugliness, the only thing that he lacked was a prominent sign of tearstains across his pale cheekbones. Even now, Fuji was steadfast; he refused to let a single tear fall from his eyelashes.

He lay in dreamless sleep, immersed in the warm sea that comforted his worries and quelled his stormy sorrows. He managed to abandon his light sleep in favor something deeper. Otherwise, if the window opened, he would hear it, and feel the brush of cool night wind against his pale cheek. His alarm clock glinted across the room, and entering the glare was a strangers face. Perhaps not… Handsome features came into light. His wise eyes looked past the fragile exterior and saw broken barriers. Fuji stirred but a little in his sleep, and weakly shifted and groaned. In his hair was that inevitable glint—Fuji was wearing the hairclip. Slowly, the man traced the sketchy exterior and brought his hand to the human's neck, caked with flaking, dried blood. As if by magic, the boy shifted at the touch, but did not wake. If anything, his breathing grew rougher, and he seemed to cling to his sheets in a feeble attempt to protect him against ghosts. Nothing prepared him for the visions that fluttered past his closed eyelids, though.

For the most part, Fuji's mind was relatively blank and unusually devoid of dreams. Instead, he abandoned that frontier to bury him in the warmth of the blankets and surrendered his mind to the numbing comfort of relative innocence. He was usually a very light sleeper, but tonight he was sleeping deeply; otherwise, the sound of the window opening softly would awake him. Slowly, a pair of hands lifted a man onto the windowsill and he stepped inside with the silence and stealth of a ghost. Fuji was buried under the blankets so much that he didn't even feel the brush of cool air against his cheek.

The man who just stepped in eyed Fuji. Even through the relative darkness of the room, he was no doubt handsome, and his wise eyes were able to see past Fuji's delicate exterior to his inner emotions. Shutting the window, he stepped over to Fuji's bed and pulled the blankets from over Fuji's head. Slowly, he traced the cheek and brought his hand to the human's neck; it was caked with lines of flaking, dried blood. As if by magic, his touch awoke Fuji, and he shifted slightly. For a moment, he lingered in sleep, and in that time dreams arose in his mind. He clutched the sheets in a feeble attempt to combat the ghosts of visions that slipped elusively into his mind. Even now, he wasn't ready for what he saw.

"_Fuji."_

_Like his dream so long ago, a shadowy figure reached out to him. _

_The figure reached out to him, his pale fingers curling and his lips curving into a sinuous smirk like a puff of smoke. He tilted his head slightly and stepped forward—as if drawn by the desire to fall into the outstretched arms. "Come, Fuji."_

_Fuji didn't know where he was—it was somewhere dark and cold. The hands that reached out for him and took hold were even colder; they were as cold as ice and snow and at their very touch he couldn't help but shiver. The man's face suddenly cleared and his eyes widened. With a soft gasp, he took a step back. _

"_Te—"_

_The man leaned down against his neck and Fuji felt a surge of pain; any attempt at escape was dampened by that strong hold, and though he fell rather silent, incoherent murmurs passed across his lips that tried to keep his tears at bay. He recalled whispering several things, but he wasn't sure if this beast—this creature cared enough to listen. The pair of arms firmly caught him, and he felt the cool lips against his neck turn up in a cruel smirk. _

"_No…Tezuka…"_

Abruptly, he snapped into consciousness, but even a few minutes after the dream ended, the familiar buzz of a nightmare circled around his head. For a few moments, he felt tears of weakness bud against his eyes. Why was it such a challenge to cry? Then again, as he slowly overcame his thick emotions, he realized that somebody was there.

Fuji sat up.

"Who are you?" He caught Fuji in a sour mood, of course, which was partially attributed to the fact his sleep was disturbed. His eyes were always able to see past human barriers. He exhausted himself, and it was all for Tezuka. Nothing was harder on not only the immune system, but also on the mood. He was able to sense, too, that concern tugged at Fuji's frantic mind.

"Do you remember?" He leaned forward and took Fuji's face in his hands. Angrily, Fuji swatted them away. What came from his mouth was neither a whimper nor an angry grunt. Fuji's hair stood on end, and nearly growled in anger. Yes—Tezuka agitated his mood and now all he wanted was to be alone. "Amery." He stated simply. Fuji's face didn't slacken. Now, though, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. The side of his hand nearly slammed into the other man's face, but stopped minutely as if he expected this vampire to explain itself. Fuji was able to tell now—maybe, he always had the ability. Subconsciously, he was able to detect that Tezuka was a vampire, but it wasn't until a few months ago that Fuji truly chose to acknowledge that. Now, as if he was able to sense an invisible aura, he easily told the difference between humans and vampires not only from the pale skin, but also from basic mannerisms. Calmly, he lowered his hand, but his fingers were centimeters from Amery's face.

"Is there something you want? How did you get in?" Fuji nearly bit out each phrase, a telltale sign of his unnaturally short temper. Amery simply frowned and stood, then cast a glance at Fuji. The stare drilled through his very being, and suddenly, his heart fluttered unnaturally. The dark, handsome deaths were painted with traces of crimson, though the subtly of the color made Tezuka's eyes look far more fierce. He never spoke of Fuji's realization, but his eyes traced Fuji's expression and detected words that remained unspoken. As if he fashioned himself an experienced telepath, his eyes commended Fuji. _Well done. You're intelligent, especially for a human. _At these silent whispers, spoken entirely by Amery's eyes, Fuji wasn't able to help but shiver. The look that they exchanged was eerie.

"You leave your window unlocked for Tezuka, don't you?" Fuji suppressed a bare shiver. Then, Amery gave his most charming smile. Fuji didn't speak. "I thought that I might want to see how you are faring. I see you're wearing it." Biting his lip, Fuji fingered the hairclip, hidden by his bangs. Perhaps in desperation, he wore it, though Fuji didn't know why. He was already in enough of a crisis. Though he seemed to proclaim his affection for Tezuka blindly, something still held him back. He was perturbed at his whole situation. After all, he was a teenager; he was supposed to be _normal_; he was supposed to be _smart_; he was supposed to like _girls_, not Tezuka.

"You're distant tonight, Fuji. Is there something I can do for you?" In ways, it seemed almost as if Amery was able to read his thoughts, or that he believed the way to win Fuji over was to act as charming and omnipotent as possible. Fuji felt suffocated, nearly. Tezuka wasn't nearly as clingy.

"No, there isn't."

"Fuji, why won't you tell me?"

_Because I don't know you,_ Fuji wanted to reply sarcastically. Instead, he gave a cool answer, posting an easy warning. "There isn't anything that's a cause for concern." Even by the way he spoke, it was obvious that there was something he lied about. The trick of the matter was figuring out _what _it was rather than finding out the true fact. It took patience to deal with Fuji, especially at night when he was too tired to construct barriers to hide his bad mood. Amery sat on the bed, and Fuji withdrew in a grumpy manner. He was still half-asleep, and he wanted the warmth of dreamless sleep to claim him again. Amery was making it difficult, though, and when he wasn't under the bedcovers, it actually was a cold night. After all, Fuji hadn't nearly recovered from his current ordeal.

"Fuji, do you remember what I told you?"

The question didn't need answering.

"It's obvious that you're beginning to see Tezuka's evils. My offer is still valid. You know that I will give you eternal life. All you need to do is ask. The door is always open." He placed his fingers over Fuji's neck to emphasize his point, and when Fuji slapped his hand away, he gained the information that he needed. So, Tezuka really had advanced on him completely that night. His grumpy, tired exterior looked beaten and worn, and now it was all explained. "I will protect you, Fuji."

"I do not need protection," Fuji answered firmly, ice touching across his tone like cold winter wind.

"Fine."

Now, Fuji felt like he was going to fall over, and he grew paranoid and buried himself under the blanket, far of the vampire's reach. Here, he was safe. Even if he weren't able to breathe, he would be out of the clutches of his death, warm and safe. "I'm not going to harm you, Fuji." Fuji didn't withdraw his head, but his fingers withdrew from clutching the edges of the blanket over his body. Trembling slightly, he closed his eyes.

"I don't think that you're trying to help me without benefiting yourself," he muttered.

There was a soft sigh that echoed against Fuji's eardrums. "Fuji, I'm not going to lie like Tezuka will. I drink human blood, but in that I have enough control over my bloodlust. Tezuka wouldn't. He isn't used to preserving a human's life."

"Drinking human blood is enough," said Fuji darkly.

"Do you think that you can change who I am? Who Tezuka is? Simply because you do not understand somebody's intentions does not mean their valid. I may drink human blood, but I'm not a parasite. That's Tezuka. Why won't you trust me?"

He sighed. "I can take care of myself. Leave." he stated again like an insistent child. Soon enough, though, he was calm enough to the point where he no longer panicked. However, he still felt the electricity that fear wired through his system, and he quickly stood up. "Besides," he murmured. "My mother is here. If she finds you, you'll be in trouble." Though he wanted to ignore it, he was able to understand the telltale smirk that turned up on Amery's lips. It was an expression that he never saw Tezuka wear. It was only a signal that Amery already dropped his clever human façade around Fuji and fashioned a far more seductive approach. Somehow, though, Fuji wasn't able to reason his way out of it.

"You are troubled tonight, Fuji. You didn't find that by the front door, she left a note. Whoever Yuuta is, your mother went to see him. It's an emergency, I guess. She wrote that you shouldn't worry and that there's enough food in the refrigerator—she'll be back in a day or two." He held a piece of paper out to Fuji, and out of disbelief he snatched it and laid his eyes upon the note. It was obviously his mother's handwriting.

So, that was why he wasn't in trouble. His mother left before it even got late.

He trembled uncontrollably again. What was he supposed to do? Slowly, he laid a hand over his mouth. Amery leaned in very close to his ear and whispered, "What's wrong, my dearest Fuji." The genius felt sick at the very words, spoken in such a poisonous, seductive manner. He froze as fingers touched the skin of his cheek and skimmed along his neck to press against his collarbone. He was plunged into a bucket of ice-cold water sickeningly. Amery pulled him forward into an embrace—something that would usually seem warm; there was something that frightened him, though, something that _wasn't_ Tezuka. He jerked and tasted bile in his mouth.

"Nothing." Though Fuji's tone shook once, his voice remained strong and forceful, though it was fading quickly. He wasn't a coward, but the cold, silent malice of a killer was enough to stop anybody in their tracks, especially when they were being falsely tender. This wasn't like his moments with Tezuka—the man was able to make him _feel _much more than Amery could. His eyelashes touched his cheek; Fuji squeezed his eyes shut and took a steady breath. He was strong enough to ignore it when a cool pair of lips skimmed his cheek and pressed against his temple.

"Are you sure?" The voice died into a soft, deadly whisper that was enough to make his heart race. Fuji swallowed, barely aware of a hand resting against his neck and massaging the skin, touching dangerously close to where Tezuka bit him earlier that night. He tuned his head up for only a moment by chance and caught the glimpse of sharpened teeth, glinting ominously even in the darkness. "You know, you can tell me anything. Anything. I love you, Fuji."

Those words were enough. Fuji felt sick to his stomach.

Vomit rose in his throat, and he tore away from Amery's grip. His legs carried him all the way to the toilet and he collapsed there next to it, emptying the few contents left in his stomach in a single shudder.

The stomach acid burned his throat and bile left a more than unpleasant taste in his mouth. Fuji leaned over the toilet again to vomit and grew aware of a hand on his shoulder, touching him gently. He wanted to swat it away, to do anything. He wanted to break the cruel man's wrist, but his body was frozen as if by magic, and he found it even harder to try and speak.

"What do you want?" he asked, his lips fumbling over words after he had finished. "Get out," However, Amery did quite the contrary; instead, he drew Fuji closer and wiped his mouth with a cool washcloth. This man scared him, sometimes. He was a lot kinder than Tezuka ever was, but there was something different about it, as if catching humans was a specialty of Amery's. He didn't want either person, Amery or Tezuka, did he? Instead of leaving, he only went over to the sink and found a small paper cup to fill with water and hand over to Fuji, who shakily gulped it down.

"Think clearly, Fuji. You've had a very rough night as it is. There is no need to make yourself ill."

"Who says that I'm not thinking clearly?" he asked as he finished the last of the water. It did nothing to soothe his burning throat.

"Really, Fuji." In a motherly gesture, he brushed aside Fuji's bangs and brought him into his arms, however, there was something vastly wrong with everything. These arms were cold and even when he tried to relax into them and search for the comfort that was offered he wasn't able to find anything. In desperation, he burrowed his face deeper against the man's chest, but his mind screamed in protest. Everything was falling apart. He wasn't pathetically desperate, but he still longed for anything but this embrace; it whispered death to him, and he couldn't muster up the courage to fight against it. He was surrounded by the cold. Sitting on the tile floor was already chilling enough, but Amery simply sucked all the warmth from his body.

"I—"

Amery interrupted him. "I know that you don't trust me right now, Fuji, but give me a chance. I'll prove that I'm the one you can trust." Though Fuji tried to open his mouth in protest, it was sealed shut in a firm line. Swallowing the last of his frustration, he closed his eyes and fell limp into the cool embrace. What was he supposed to do otherwise? Who knew? Maybe this man was able to control him. Certainly, right now, his limbs were so heavy that he couldn't even more. When Fuji's heartbeat slowed, Amery pulled him to his feet, keeping him close at his side. He didn't appreciate being coddled this way, as if he was some woman. Fuji wasn't a girl; he didn't need physical affection for reassurance. That's part of the reason why he liked Tezuka so much; the man was sexy, but he wasn't clingy like some others were. He knew how to be succinct and how to use his words in ways that only a few made such a large impact. The two of them didn't like to be smothered.

Sometimes, though, in his deepest dreams, Tezuka would show only a little more emotion. He looked upon Amery's face and found it; there was a glimmer of kind sentiment, though Fuji could see all its false tales. If Tezuka was only a little more like this… The only thing Fuji longed for was a little more response from Tezuka. The man kissed him quickly while guilt filled his heart; Fuji's kisses carried so many hints and innuendo that remained ignored. Fuji sometimes laid such sentiment in his kisses that he thought that it might be possible for their bond to go deeper. However, for vampires nothing seemed to be more than skin deep except for Amery.

Maybe, just maybe, he would learn how to love this man rather than Tezuka. He frowned.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Fuji." Amery told him, leading to the sink and wetting a washcloth so that he could wipe the dried blood from Fuji's neck and search the medicine cabinet overhead to search for peroxide and a bandage. He wiped Fuji's neck once more and put a bandage over the cut. In the mirror, a strange reflection glared back at him. His eyes were tired and rather devoid of his normal emotions all the happiness leaked from his face and his lips were pulled into an uncharacteristic frown. His face was dirt-smudged and his eyes had dark circles under them. He really looked like he was an inch from death.

Looking away from the mirror as Amery cleaned his face, he closed his eyes once again. He needed to do something to recompose himself, and as soon as the man finished cleaning his face, Fuji brushed his fingers over the others and let a faint, yet prominent smile touch his lips. "Thank you," deep within his words, he wove too many lies to count, but even Amery wasn't able to detect it.

"Hey, I got a nice response from you!" He smiled in a rather goofy manner and ruffled Fuji's hair, then took his hand and led him back to the bedroom. "You need to smile more often." This man didn't seem like a spy; didn't he know how Fuji constantly smiled? His smile usually lingered with the sunlight and moonlight, but today it dropped because of the lonely, lonely solitude he felt, even with Amery.

Oh, god, who was he kidding?

He wasn't sure if he could ever find any sort of true affection for this man in his heart, even when at the moment he was pretending. He promptly buried himself under the covers again, but having the blood cleaned from his neck was somewhat of a relief. Now, he didn't have to breathe the sickening scent of his own blood.

"Good night," he whispered softly.

Above the blankets, Amery's hand searched and then patted his shoulder. Though he seemed to enjoy testing boundaries, he didn't have enough audacity to even try and pull the blankets from over Fuji's head. Under them, Fuji curled away from the man when the cold seeped into the blankets and bit his skin. Soon, he settled as far away from Amery as he could, but an aching loneliness formed in his heart. He was longing for something, and he didn't know what. Even Fuji, such an ambitious, naturally talented person, was unaccustomed to such yearning. He couldn't stop thinking about Tezuka and tracing the bandage on his neck.

Tezuka, Tezuka, Tezuka…

Before tonight, Fuji enjoyed his ignorance; he ignored the obsession, slight resentment, and strange bonds of friendship that blossomed between them. Now, the lines between conflicting feelings crossed and blurred.

Tezuka caused him pain; he only wanted his heartbeat to slow a little so that it didn't hurt so much. He couldn't resist thinking—daydreaming of Tezuka. He wasn't able to stop his mind from wandering to a subject that his mother would faint at—the unthinkable. Fuji hated himself for it. He was being foolish. Childish. Weak. He was letting fantasies cloud his mind. It was so hard to resist the vision he had, to press Tezuka against the wall and breathe his death-filled breath and kiss him like the world was ending. As if by magic, he felt Tezuka stiffen under his fingertips and avoid the touch of their lips.

This was inevitable. Everything was inevitable.

Fuji wanted to like another woman, or maybe even another man in exchange for this, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from Tezuka for even a minute. Until that very moment, he hadn't realized how much he fell for Tezuka. He'd allowed every single emotion to stay locked away in his heart so deeply that when realization hit, it hurt. He didn't have time to accept it, even after all the weeks when Tezuka kissed him and he in turn pressed closer to Tezuka. Even then, he thought that he was just messing around; he wasn't the type that _was_ gay. Why did he suddenly realize that he loved a man? A monster? A lump rose in his throat. _He loved Tezuka. _He loved him. The words echoed in his weakening heart like a funeral hymn.

Wasn't love supposed to be happy?

When you were in love with a predator, things never were quite as simple as they seemed.

Deep within his heart, Fuji knew that even if he never saw Tezuka again, there wouldn't be another person that had such a blatant ability to infatuate him so completely. Yes, there would be others, but the suffocating fear and deep obsessions would never blind him again. His mind wandered to the thought of Tezuka's touch and voice, nearly trembling at the thought of his whispers. The very nature of his relationship with him was enough to capture him in a downwards spiral to insanity; he never felt such a forbidden yet delightful feeling. Slowly, his hand traveled up to his face. His eyes were nearly wet; silently, he wiped away the unshed tears and swallowed.

"_I love you, Tezuka…"_

Love was something filled with happiness and sadness, he thought. Love was traced with hatred and laced with passion. Love was anything and everything, but it wasn't all-powerful. Fuji needed to decide that for himself yet, though. Was it lust, or was it driving obsession that demanded he take a place at Tezuka's side. Why when Tezuka wasn't a woman did Fuji insist to stay with him? Why was he able to see inexplicable pain, yet charm within the man? Why did Tezuka already mean the world to him? Why, when he knew that he would never be able to have ideal love, bathed in sunlight and soothing memories, did he let this dreadful obsession continue?

It was love, after all. Love didn't have a reason.

And love didn't make an evil person good.

If Tezuka were good, he would never be the person that Fuji fell in love with in the first place. If their relationship were to be bathed among flowers, sunlight, and warm feelings, he may as well have fallen in love with a woman. Fuji was bound to sad, desolate nights of waiting for Tezuka at his window. What would happen after that? He would maybe steal a few kisses and some blood, but again and again, he would leave Fuji waiting again at the window like a desperate maiden. Something told him that he wouldn't be a vampire, at least not any time soon. Tezuka was not that type of person. He was neither selfless nor greedy. He would not grant Fuji eternal life, but he wouldn't allow Fuji to die by his hands—at least not yet. Time would make the ultimate decision, and it was pure torture.

As these thoughts passed, he realized something.

Maybe, just maybe he was beginning to forgive Tezuka for these horrible sins.

"Hey, Fuji?" He was torn from his thoughts. Fuji stirred from under the blankets but didn't arise. Composing himself and letting a pale smile make its way across his lips, he answered.

"What?"

"What Tezuka did to you is unforgivable."

Even under the blankets, Amery knew that Fuji's eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Hmm?" he murmured pensively in such a characteristic way. This was the Fuji that Tezuka was killing. The real Fuji was slightly pensive and abstract, but he was always strong and determined. It was amazing seeing such power shine through at such a simple gesture. He pulled the blankets over his head and simply looked at Amery plainly, nearly sitting up. The man's presence was like Tezuka—the man was beautiful, maybe even more attractive than Tezuka, but he didn't like him quite as much. It was too difficult to trust him.

"I'm simply saying that you should be careful. You shouldn't fall in love with him."

Right now, Fuji was too tired to give the words enough thought, and soon enough his silence consumed the room, but soon enough, the words echoed darkly across his mind. As he let the last of sleep take his tired, heavy eyes, he couldn't help but muster a single thought.

_How did Amery know they were falling in love?_

Leaning back against his pillow, he stared up at the ceiling in numb disregard to the fact that Amery stroked his hair, yet looked in the opposite direction with an emotionless, apathetic glance. "Fuji," His voice was kind, soft, and warm. It was the voice that Fuji would use on a girlfriend, if he ever had one. "You may feel like you never have control, but all you need to tell yourself is that this is not the person you love, and it will come true." He pulled the blanket over his head and brushed Amery's hand away. "You're only causing more pain in surrendering that control."

There was silence.

Fuji was asleep now, and Amery spoke into the silence. "You should not hesitate to kill him, dearest Fuji. You may be the only one who can." His voice was sinister now, and dark. His command was pushing, and the sleeping Fuji only seemed to barely intercept the message—the command.

"Punish him for making you love him," he said in a deep, persuasive voice. "Never doubt your power to change our world. You will lead a revolution. I will grant you unlimited power, Fuji Shuusuke, and Tezuka will never be able to touch you again."

As if the sleeping Fuji understood, he shifted under the blankets and curled tighter against his knees, in effect pulling the blanket from over his head. In the darkness, it looked as if he nodded in salute and then drifted into dreamless, undisturbed rest. Satisfied with his feat, he stood and gave Fuji one last look as his false sentiments evaporated. He turned to the window and opened it while the human boy slept only across the room. "Fuji Shuusuke will soon be mine, and Tezuka will fall." Fuji didn't hear his last words as he left the room.

The hours passed slowly after the last cold breeze passed his window, and Fuji still slept on, even as daylight crept into his window and fell on his paling face, until he awoke wearily and thought of everything as a dream, until he touched the bandage on his neck and was greeted by a wave inexplicable pain that throbbed within the depths of his heart until, remembering his mother's departure, he curled up again in bed and let his eyelids fall. He would forget about Tezuka; that was the last thing he told himself. He laid there for the rest of the day and it easily fell into night again and Fuji, as if he was captured within the spell of time, hadn't moved since then, drifting between sleep and consciousness. Early into the evening, he fell asleep.

Another shadow passed his window, and slowly, hesitantly the window opened and the cool breeze fell across the room again and Tezuka stepped in, surprised that Fuji's blind fury didn't drive him to lock the room. There wasn't an angry human standing at the window to punch him, or try to burn him with his touch. Instead, Fuji was across the room hugging his knees close to his chest. Moonlight fell across his elusive face and whenever Tezuka tried to touch it, the beauty slipped past his fingers.

His eyes still had not cooled from their angry red, and they were half-closed in shame, though golden flecks were already beginning to speckle across the flawless crimson. He touched Fuji's forehead, then his neck. At the simple caress of fingers, Fuji groaned in pain and shifted away from Tezuka's gentle touch. Tezuka's glasses glared in the moonlight, and he lowered his head in deep apology. Fuji stilled. "I'm sorry," They were very foreign words, falling across his lips. In his sleep, Fuji didn't recognize the apology, and even then, Tezuka was sure that it would not be accepted. He just needed to see the boy once more—somehow, even after he regretted it so much, he couldn't let go.

He stood there for a while—an eternity, perhaps allowing the lull of false fantasies to snare him—the hope that Fuji would awake and throw his arms around Tezuka, pulling him down against the mattress. Part of him whished that Fuji would tremble slightly and give himself wholly to him, asking Tezuka to never leave and whispering confessions vaguely while Tezuka sat there, frozen in time. Even at the very thought, Tezuka's heart shook. That would never happen. Fuji's eyes showed slivers when he felt Tezuka's touch run gently across his cheek again.

"Tezuka?"

His murmur was soft, and wistful; his anger was replaced with fatigue. Fuji's mind didn't race, and he was lulled by the comfort of the thought of a sleepy dream. Slowly, Tezuka knelt beside the bed, his elbows resting near Fuji. Closing his blood red eyes, he sighed. "You—" Without even opening his eyes, Tezuka knew that tears glistened there like jewels; Fuji didn't fight back because he thought it was a dream and perhaps in his subconscious, he longed once more to look upon Tezuka's face without fear. He looked upon the image, bathed in moonlight and held his breath.

Fuji made no effort to jump up and throw his arms around Tezuka like he fantasized; any courage that he possessed left him upon Tezuka's entrance. It would be back by daybreak, no doubt, but Tezuka owned the night, and in it Fuji was powerless. Instead of even screaming or yelling, he parted his lips slightly and whispered words Tezuka couldn't hear, his eyes glistening with foreign emotions. As soon as Fuji went to sit up, Tezuka's hand flew to his forehead and he stiffened, icy fear creeping across his veins. He couldn't even protest. However, Tezuka wasn't violent. Slowly, full of longing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Fuji. The pressure that Tezuka kept on Fuji's forehead increased. Fuji blinked blearily.

"This was a dream," Tezuka whispered softly, the pads of his fingertips skimming lightly across Fuji's warm forehead. They stopped near his temples, and by the time Tezuka paused, focused, and murmured a few words, and Fuji relaxed under his touch.

_You will forget._

Slowly, he lifted his hand and stood. Come morning, Fuji would not know of his visit. Tezuka lifted his head, noble, yet sad.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, until dawn was creeping across the sky. Even despite his intense longing, Tezuka maintained his control—and he decided to leave, finally. However, his yearning couldn't be completely withheld. Slowly, he leaned down and kissed Fuji's forehead, only letting his lips brush barely over the warm skin before he stepped back. His eyes lingered longingly over Fuji's face and lips before he doubled back to the window and ran blindly for shelter, even then the sun burned his fingertips and he hissed with pain.

He wanted badly to be with Fuji, but he knew now that he could never go back.


End file.
